


Words with Friends

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Humor, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Best Friends, Bondage, Breath Control Play, Chains, Dick Pics, Dirty Talk, Dom Castiel, F/M, Facials, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic, Het, Humor, M/M, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Name-Calling, Paddling, Phone Sex, Porn, Porn Watching, Punishment, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Sexting, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Sub Dean, Tattoos, Threesome - F/M/M, Tongue Piercings, Verbal Humiliation, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dean Winchester is as straight as an arrow. He’s a lady’s man of epic proportions: the king of the one night stand, the messiah of the friends with benefits paradigm, the emperor of perpetual bachelorhood.</p><p>Except, apparently, when it comes to his best friend, Castiel Novak."</p><p>***</p><p>Wherein a longstanding acquaintanceship leads to friendship, then best friendship, then sexting, then dirty talk, then mutual masturbation, then, inevitably, fucking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sexting

Dean Winchester is as straight as an arrow. He’s a lady’s man of epic proportions: the king of the one night stand, the messiah of the friends with benefits paradigm, the emperor of perpetual bachelorhood.

Except, apparently, when it comes to his best friend, Castiel Novak.

Dean and Cas went to high school together, but they ran in different social circles and only had a couple classes together. Their graduating class was small, so they were acquaintances and on friendly terms, but they only reconnected on a friendship level at their five-year class reunion.

When Dean is completely honest with himself, which is rare, he had always been kind of intimidated by Castiel. Cas was one of those guys who was popular in an infamous way. He wasn’t bullied and he wasn’t exactly a nerd. He was a lone wolf, a guy who had one foot in a dozen different cliques. He was the guy who looked at teachers like they were stupid, and had an answer for every question. He was the guy who made teachers say, “Oh, I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

Cas just had a unique perspective of the world, and nobody could quite put a finger on him, so everyone left him alone.

Dean was shamefully obsessive about his own stereotype, though. He was a varsity football player, a quarterback. He got straight Cs and flirted with everyone who gave him the time of day and was generally kind of a douche.

But he’s had a rough five years, and he’s grown up a lot.

At the reunion, Dean walked up to Cas and shook his hand. “Castiel Novak, right?”

Cas smiled and shook his hand in turn. “Dean Winchester. How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Dean replied, and added – as Dean learned was par for high school reunions – “Mechanic. I own the body shop down the street.”

“Ah, an entrepreneur. Good on you.” He smiled. “I’m an English teacher. Here, actually.”

Dean and Cas ignored everyone else at the reunion for the rest of the night, becoming both acquainted and somehow reacquainted with one another, then exchanged phone numbers to grab a beer together sometime in the near future.

The near future turned out to be early the next week, when Dean texted Cas and asked if he wanted to meet up with his friends for trivia at the bar down the street. With Cas’s knowledge of totally random academic-type shit, Dean’s knowledge of sports and pop culture, Sam’s knowledge of history, and Garth’s knowledge of… well, nothing, but he provided much-needed comedic relief because the other three took the game way too damn seriously, they won.

They started doing trivia weekly after that, and Dean and Cas sometimes hung out on weekends too. Dean learned that Cas, like Dean, was single. They both lived in shitty apartments. They both had no idea where their lives were headed.

They were on an easy, relaxed path to close friendship, and they were both okay with that.

After three months, they had this routine of texting each other shit they found on the internet on an almost-daily basis, and in general keeping up with each other’s lives. Dean knew enough about Cas that he was anecdotally introduced to all the characters in Cas’s life – his parents, his five brothers and sisters, a few of his best and worst students – so that Cas could mention them by name without an antecedent. Dean was the same way with Cas, but he had much fewer people in his life to recount stories about. He had a lot less drama, but he appreciated being able to keep up with Cas’s. It made life have an interesting flare that Dean hadn’t realized was even missing.

One day, Cas sent Dean a picture text. It was of Cas’s car and what appeared to be a dozen eggs smashed all over it. The text below it read:

_C: In your expert opinion, do you believe this incident was caused by:_

_A)_ _A random suburban thug_

 _B)_ _A vengeful student_

 _C)_ _Gabriel Novak_

Dean had replied:

_D: Gotta go with C on this one._

Cas’s response was a picture of a note in big scrawled handwriting that read:

_Enjoy your breakfast! Love, Gabe_

Dean and Cas’s friendship was simple.

Until it wasn’t.

Things started going downhill one night when Dean was bingeing on Netflix and eating an entire pizza. His phone buzzed on the coffee table and Dean groaned because it was just out of reach. After a minute, he put his pizza box on the floor and rolled over to reach for it.

Cas had sent him a picture text.

Of a sexy, naked woman wearing nothing but a lacy, black thong.

The text below it read:

_C: Thoughts?_

Dean replied, eloquently:

_D: Hot._

_C: Scale of 1-10?_

_D: 9. Why?_

_C: Curious._

Dean saved a couple pictures on his phone of his favorite porn stars and sent them to Cas in turn.

This new… _thing_ began where some nights they would trade off sending each other porn. Like their friendship, it just seemed like a chill, normal thing for them to do.

Two dudes, sending each other pictures of naked women.

Slowly, pictures turned to videos, and single-word opinions turned into graphic descriptions of what they’d like to do to these women.

_D: I’d bend her over the hood of my car and pound into her so hard she’d scream, “Papi! Dios mio!”_

It was hilarious. And depraved. And wrong on every level. But it was a blast when they’d do this, just because of how filthy it all was.

And, somehow, comforting.

Also, it always ended with Dean texting one-handed while his other hand was pumping furiously on his cock.

While Dean could only ever think of snappy one-liners to type out, and also because he lacked the patience to text long paragraphs, Cas sent novels of description with his pictures. It was so vivid, Dean would feel like he was right there, watching Cas fuck the curvy redhead bent over with her wrists tied to her ankles.

_C: I would shove my tongue down her throat and pull her hair back until she gasped, then I’d lick a stripe up the length of her pale neck and bite down, sucking, until dark purple marks cover that pristine flesh. She would be moaning so loud I would have to shove a ball gag in her mouth, then I would bend her over a table and hog tie her, wrists to ankles, body stretched tight and contorted until her muscles ache. I’d get a flog and slap her ass until it’s red, raw with strips of welts across that perfect round ass. Once she’s groaning and whimpering on her gag, I’d get a vibe and shove it onto her clit, alternating between the vibe and slapping her pussy until it’s soaked, dripping down her legs, and only when she’s sobbing with want would I shove two fingers into her, ramming her g-spot until she squirts all over me. I’d use her cum to prep her ass around three fingers while I shove my dick into her pussy and fuck her until she comes again, sobbing around her gag while I spank her hard on top of her existing welts, leaving hand prints on each cheek. When I’m close and her hole is prepped, I’d bottom out into her ass in one long slide and pump into her, smacking her ass so that she clenches around me over and over and over, then I’d spill my load into her, filling her up so much that when I pull out, it gushes out into her pussy and down her legs._

_D: Dude. Holy shit._

_C: You’re welcome._

_D: I gotta… go clean up now._

Jesus Christ, Dean thought. The orgasm that paragraph and its accompanying picture pulled out of him was intense as _fuck_.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had been imagining Castiel in all of these positions over the past few weeks they’d been doing this, naked and fucking chicks, over and over and over again.

The horrific result of this realization is this present moment, when Dean is at trivia holding their usual table, and Cas walks into the bar wearing his school clothes: a white button-up dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows – showing off a full-sleeve tattoo that Dean has never asked about – and a blue tie that’s loosened and backwards hanging on his neck. He has a five o’clock shadow, and his dark blue eyes are tired.

When Cas sits down – acting like he hadn’t given Dean a mind-blowing orgasm the night before – Dean’s dick twitches in his pants, because the hands that are picking up the menu directly in front of him are the same hands that Dean imagined spanking and prepping and fucking the holes of a hot redhead.

His chapped, pink lips are the same lips Dean has inadvertently imagined countless times on the lips of some chick’s pussy, eating her out while she combed her fingers through his hair, making it the perfectly spiky mess it is right now after a long day of running his hands through it in exasperation of his students.

Like a punch to the gut, Dean realizes he wants to run his hands through Cas’s hair too, preferably while Cas is on his knees with those beautiful, plump lips wrapped around Dean’s cock.

And suddenly Dean’s mouth has gone completely dry, and he’s hard as a rock, without having to think of tits or ass or pussy. Just Cas, in his rumpled, business casual attire, with his sex-hair and his DSL and the strong hands that Dean would be willing to bet a lot of money are as skilled and dexterous as he thinks they are.

“Dean? Are you okay?” Cas asks, brow furrowed.

Dean swallows and clears his throat, diverting his eyes and looking at the draft menu. “Yeah. Want to split a pitcher?”

The rest of the night goes smoothly, despite Dean feeling like he’s been kicked in the throat at the realization that he is presently, horribly, painfully _attracted to his best friend_.

That night, as soon as he gets home from trivia, he decides to push the line a bit further, and he sends Cas a picture of a buff, shirtless dude.

_D: Thoughts?_

The minutes tick by at an agonizingly slow speed as Cas gets home from trivia too and does all his nightly routine stuff that somehow Dean knows by heart.

Finally, Cas texts back.

_C: I bet he doesn’t even lift._

Dean rolls his eyes.

_D: Scale of 1-10?_

After several minutes, Cas replies:

_C: 12_

Cas has only ever given chicks 7 or below. The only porn star who got an 8 was a woman covered in tattoos with a pixie cut who was shoving some chick’s face onto her pussy.

It finally hits Dean:

Cas digs dudes.

_D: What would you do to him?_

It’s a long time before Cas replies, and Dean’s dick is already hard and leaking in his jeans with anticipation. While he waits, he tears his clothes off and lies on top of his covers in bed, letting the cool early Autumn air of his open window rove over his body.

_C: I’d kiss him. Gently, at first. Then I’d pull his lip into my mouth and bite down on it until he whimpers. I’d shove my hand in his pants and wrap my fingers around his cock, pumping him furiously until he leaks all over me, and my palm is slick with his cum. I’d slide my hand down and cup his balls, reaching further back to tease his hole with my slicked-up finger, pressing slowly into it, further and faster, until I’m two knuckles deep and he’s panting into my mouth that I need to fuck him, right now._

Dean grasps the base of his cock to keep from coming.

Then he gets an idea.

_D: Do you want to see what you do to me?_

The reply is immediate:

_C: Yes._

Dean goes to the camera app on his phone and takes a picture of his dick, swollen red with a pearl of cum at the top, shiny with his own wetness slicked all over the shaft. He sends it to Cas.

_C: Jfc, Dean. You’re huge._

_D: Keep going._

Dean closes his eyes and jerks himself loosely, imagining Cas’s hands on him, his fingers in him, giving Dean the intense pleasure that Cas has proven over the history of their friendship that he is more than capable of providing.

_C: I’d push him to his knees and unbutton my pants, relieving my cock, half-hard. He would move his hands up to touch me, but I’d swat them away, and instead rub myself on his face, across his lips while he chases me around trying to catch my cock in his mouth. Fully hard, I’d leave a stripe of cum across his cheek and bottom lip, then press myself into his mouth and shove all the way down his throat until he’s swallowing around me, eyes watering. I’d fuck his face until I’m close and then I’d pull out and make him stand up, licking the taste of myself off of his lips. Then I’d lay him down and lube up my fingers, prepping him so slowly that he begs me for a third, and then for my dick inside of him. When he’s ready, I’d line my cock up with his ass and press in, bottoming out slowly, and he’d scream for me to fuck into him, harder and faster, until I’m slapping into him, onto his sweet spot so hard that he comes all over his own chest and, with his orgasm clenching his hole around my cock, I’d come inside him, hard, screaming your name._

Dean comes with a shout while barely touching himself.

 _Screaming your name,_ Dean reads again.

Panting and unable to use his hands to type out a coherent message, he takes a picture of his dick, waning hardness, resting against his abdomen and the fuck-ton of spunk all over his stomach, chest, and neck.

He sends it to Cas, and passes out.


	2. Phone Sex

Cas never replied to the second picture Dean sent, and Dean isn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

They go a few days without talking, then Cas sends him a funny cat picture and everything is back to normal. At trivia the next week, Dean tries to convince himself that Cas does not, in fact, possess pictures of Dean's dick on the cell phone which is innocently placed on the table two feet in front of him.

He fails at that endeavor, and spends most of the night drinking excessively and avoiding eye contact with Cas.

Thankfully, Garth and Sam are too fucking oblivious to notice, and Cas is too tactful to point it out.

After trivia that night, Dean is lying in bed, tense – and, admittedly, a bit drunk – and boiling over with desire. He wants to tear at Cas's clothes and see him naked, find out what the rest of that damn sleeve tattoo looks like. He wants to put that beautiful, inked skin into his mouth. He wants to taste and feel and push and pull. He just aches with sheer _want_.

And he realizes with alarm, he has never wanted _anyone_ as much as he wants Castiel Novak.

Hard as hell at no image in particular, just the thought of the feel of Cas's skin against his own, Dean takes off his shirt, sits in a chair, unbuttons his pants, and pulls out his cock. Then he raises his phone above his head and grins into it, making sure no detail is left out.

He sends the picture to Cas.

After a few minutes, his phone buzzes.

But it's not a text. It's a phone call. From Cas.

Nervous, he answers. "Hello?"

"Touch yourself, Dean," Cas barrels right in, gravelly, deep voice wrecked with lust, and it goes straight to Dean's dick.

In response, Dean lets out a completely involuntary moan, and says, _"Jesus,_ Cas," voice cracking.

"You're sitting in a chair? Good," Cas continues. "If I were there, I'd tie you to that chair, arms bound behind you. I'd take off my clothes slowly so that you have no choice but to watch me, rake your eyes down my body. Then I'd run my fingers through your hair and stop at the back of your head, pulling back until your throat is exposed, and I'd lean in, biting down, gently at first, then harder, until you're whimpering my name."

Dean grips himself, heart hammering in his chest, and he does, in fact, whimper, _"Cas."_

Cas laughs, low and quiet. "I'd move down your body and wrap my mouth around your nipple, flicking the other one with my hand, biting and pinching. I want you to do that for me right now, Dean. Pinch your nipple. Run it between your fingers and pretend my mouth is on you."

Dean breathes into the phone and lifts his hand to pinch his nipple, biting his lower lip and letting out a groan.

"Good. God, Dean, you're so fucking sexy. You know that? You send me these pictures and expect me to behave myself when I'm around you, knowing that giant cock is in your pants, making me imagine the things I could do to it. You're such a fucking _tease_ , Dean. God, if I were there, and you were tied up in that chair..." Cas stops to pant and lets out a small groan.

Dean realizes that Cas is touching himself too, so he prods him on, barely recognizing his own voice so deep and filled with desire, "What, Cas? What would you do? I'm tied up, I can't move, I'm all yours, baby, so tell me what you'd do to me."

"Oh, _Dean_ , Christ... I'd drop to my knees in front of you and gently lick up every drop of cum leaking down your shaft, then I'd slowly wrap my lips around the head of your cock and circle around it with my tongue until you're squirming, and you want me so much that I take the rest of you in suddenly, and you buck up into my throat and I swallow around your dick, throat constricting against your head as I shove that giant fucking cock of yours so far down myself, my lips touch the base..." Cas hisses into the phone, "Dean... Oh, Dean I'm so close..."

"That's good, baby," Dean pants. "Just keep fucking your fist for me, just keep talking, babe, I'm almost there too." Dean is beginning to lose his own rhythm, lower lip bitten between his teeth as he visualizes the vivid images Cas puts in his head.

Breath hitched, Cas continues, "I'd press your hips down to the chair so that you couldn't move, and then I'd fuck you with my mouth, hard and fast, until I can feel your muscles tighten. Without taking my mouth off of you, I'd raise my hand to your lips and shove my fingers between them, letting you coat them with your spit, and then I'd bring it back down and cup your balls gently, reaching under them to tease your opening with my finger, making small circles around it as I barely prod inward. Then I'd shove you..." Cas is breathing ragged breaths. "...back down my throat..." He groans, loud. "...and I'd finally press into you with my finger..." breath shuddering and whimpering, "...when I swallow around you, _hard_ , one last time, and you'd come– _oh god Dean, I'm coming..."_ Cas lets out a loud moan, yelling,  _"DEAN..."_

Dean pumps himself furiously, soaking wet, slick with his own cum, and his entire body is tensed, balanced precariously at the precipice, but when he hears his name on Cas's lips, it pushes him over the edge and he shouts, _"Oh, God, Cas!"_ as white hot stripes coat his fist and stomach and chest.

He slumps back on the chair and listens to Cas's ragged breathing, sounding very similar to his own.

When their gasping has subsided, and Dean is still tipsy and now sleepy from his orgasm, he realizes distantly that this should be an awkward moment, but it's not. "Holy hell, Cas, how did you learn to do that?"

Cas laughs into the phone, and it would sound almost like a giggle were it not for the depth that Cas's voice always carries. "I have a muse, I guess."


	3. Spontaneous Foot Fucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhh... feet aren't really my thing. But this just kinda... happened. Am I sorry? I don't know if I'm sorry. Either way, enjoy? Maybe?

Dean spends the next week periodically _freaking the fuck out_ that he had _phone sex_ with his goddamn _best friend_.

Dean is definitely _not gay_ , he assures himself.

Maybe he's a little gay, he considers.

Maybe there's a heterosexual exception policy, he wonders. It's not like they're  _in love_ , or anything. They're just friends. Who happen have phone sex sometimes.

There is _no one_ on the fucking planet who would be able to say no to that voice, especially when it's so deep and sexy and pairs up so wonderfully with those intense blue eyes and that permanent sex-hair, Dean concludes.

And the tattoos, he adds.

So Dean is definitely _not_ gay.

He just might possibly perhaps have an exception now, is all. A completely platonic exception.

Cas doesn't text him for the entire week, and Dean wonders if that's because he might be freaking out as much as Dean is, or maybe he's totally oblivious and doesn't bat an eyelash when it comes to phone sex with people he's close to, or maybe he's just busy.

Dean and Sam are the last to arrive at trivia. Dean slides into their corner booth closest to the wall and directly across from Cas.

Face immediately flushing when they first make eye contact, Dean diverts his gaze by looking at the draft menu. He orders a shot of Tully and the highest percent alcohol beer on tap as soon as the server comes around to take their drink orders.

Then he orders another before their food even arrives.

By the beginning of the second round of trivia, Dean is feeling much better. He can make eye contact with Cas now without his dick twitching uncomfortably in his pants, and he can listen to Cas talk without his face setting itself completely on fire.

So everything is good.

Until Cas starts gently rubbing his foot up and down Dean's calf.

Cas slips his shoe off and slides his socked foot up higher until it's rubbing Dean's inner thigh, slowly coming to a halt in Dean's crotch.

Dean clenches his jaw and tries to concentrate on anything but Cas's foot doing truly sinful things to him underneath the table, and fails miserably, so instead, he concentrates on not gasping in surprise or biting his lower lip or – most difficult of all – coming in his pants.

Cas rubs in strokes up and down Dean's quickly growing dick, trapped straight along his fly. He gets so hard he can feel the tip of it throbbing above the waistline of his jeans.

He swallows, and finally dares a glance at Cas, who is staring at him under a fan of dark lashes with lust-filled eyes. He looks at Dean like he's prey.

And it is really fucking hot.

"Question five: the palmetto is the official tree of which state?" the trivia guy asks.

When Dean replies, "North Carolina," his voice cracks.

Cas smirks and presses down on Dean harder until Dean gasps. "It's actually South Carolina, Dean," Cas corrects, tilting his head to the side. Then the bastard contortionist raises his foot up Dean's shirt and circles around the solid inch of Dean's cock that's busting out the top of his pants.

Dean turns his head toward the wall and bites down on his fist.

"Question six," the trivia announcer continues. "The first ten amendments to the US Constitution are referred to as what?"

Dean takes a deep breath. "The Articles of Confederation," he says, voice an octave higher than normal.

"What?" Sam asks. "No, dude, it's the Bill of Rights." He jots the answer down and looks at Dean. "Are you okay?"

Dean offers a strained smile, and forces himself to take deep, even breaths. "Yep. Never better."

Other than the pseudo-innocent, completely devious grin Cas plasters on his face, the fucker shows no signs whatsoever that anything is going on under the table.

Then he starts rubbing faster, in short, smooth movements, and Dean picks up his beer to down the last half of it in one gulp.

"Question seven: what 1995 documentary based on the book of the same name elaborates on the history of the LGBT movement in Hollywood films?"

Cas immediately tells Sam, _"The Celluloid Closet,"_ while twisting his toes around the outline of Dean's dick and stroking him quickly.

The whole ordeal seems utterly fucking impossible, but if there's one thing Dean has learned about Castiel Novak, it's that when he puts his mind to something, _it gets done_.

By the ninth question of round two, Dean is mentally fucking obliterated, and clutching at the edge of the table for dear life, trying his damnedest not to hyperventilate or let on that he's a split second away from spilling his load in his pants.

Finally, he takes his phone out just for something to look at, and types out:

_D: I fucking hate you._

"Dude," Sam chastises Dean upon seeing him with his phone – fucking goodie-ass-two-shoes – and adds, "Put your phone away."

"Can't," Dean replies, clipped, straining to breathe. "Important."

Cas checks his phone while fervently stroking Dean's cock, which is leaking a massive, filthy trail on his stomach.

Looking at the text, Cas grins, mischievous, then looks up at Dean.

Dean makes the unfortunate fucking mistake of looking up at Cas at the same time, and Cas winks at him.

The wink – the very first, sexy, slow, all-around seductive and openly blatant acknowledgement of what Cas is doing to him – pushes Dean over the edge, and he comes, hard and fast, orgasm ripping out of him so quickly that all he can do to mask the shock is cough into his fist violently.

The whole bar stares at him. "Whoa, man," Garth says. "Are you okay?"

Sam puts a hand on Dean's back and looks at him with concern and it's just too fucking weird to be touched by his brother after having come in his pants from being publicly foot fucked under a table by another dude.

Dean swallows. "Gotta go... restroom... _now_ ," he barks at Sam, shoving him forcefully out of the booth and clamoring over him, then dashing into the bathroom.

He rests against the door, breath ragged, and looks down at himself.

A spontaneous under-table gay footjob is probably the best, worst, weirdest, hottest thing to ever happen to him.

And he has no idea how he feels about that.

Looking in the mirror, he's a total mess, cheeks pink, lips swollen, eyes dilated so wide that his pupils almost eclipse the bright green of his eyes, massive stain on his shirt and pants that he attempts vainly to clean up with a paper towel.

He hangs his jacket over his arm in front of himself, and goes back to the table to slap some cash on it. "I gotta head out, guys. Not feeling too hot."

_Translation: feeling very hot, but I'm way too much of a fucking coward to sit across from Cas for the next fucking hour._

Garth and Sam say goodbye and tell him to feel better soon, but Cas excuses himself from the table and follows Dean out.

He catches up to Dean and they walk to his car in silence.

When they reach it, Dean turns on him, and says through clenched teeth, "Dude, I'm not g–"

Of course, Cas takes that moment to stare at Dean, wide-eyed, eyebrows lifted, and absently, slowly lick his lips.

It totally interrupts Dean's train of thought, because he catches a glimpse of something metallic on Cas's tongue.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asks.

"What's what?"

He points to his own mouth. "That thing. On your tongue."

"What? This?" Cas sticks out his tongue momentarily to show Dean an image that will likely stay in Dean's spank bank for all eternity.

Cas's tongue is pierced with a large, silver stud. The long, thick bar is in the dead-center of his tongue and there's a shiny, silver ball at each end.

 _"Jesus Christ,"_ Dean breathes out involuntarily.

Nonchalant as fuck, as though Dean didn't almost cream his pants a second time just _looking_ at it, Cas adds, "I got it when I was eighteen. Why?"

Dean rubs a hand over his face, completely baffled at his own life and how he managed to miss that his sexy-as-fuck best friend has a motherfucking _tongue stud._

Dean swallows, and averts his eyes, scratching the back of his neck. "No reason."

Cas stays silent until Dean is forced to look at him again, and when he does, he's giving Dean those same dark, flirty eyes that he had while teasing Dean under the table, and asks, his voice a deep, quiet growl, "Would you like to come back to my place?"

To emphasize his point, Cas slowly darts out his tongue, sharp blue eyes greedily trained on Dean, shiny ball of metal on each end of the stud dragging slowly across his luscious, pink lips.

Dean gulps, eyes wide and unable to see anything but Cas's gorgeous mouth. "Yeah," he answers, voice deep and breathless. "I would."


	4. Mutual Masturbation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should probably read this while you're alone.
> 
> Just saying.
> 
> PS Gad is Gadreel.

Dean follows Cas back to his apartment, which he's been to a thousand times, but when he enters this time, it feels different.

They're not just two dudes who hang out and send each other internet memes and sometimes porn. They're two dudes who apparently do public foot jobs like that's a thing that people even do.

Dean isn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe he thought he'd get into Cas's apartment and Cas would press him against the door, pull down his pants, and go to town on him. Maybe he thought Cas would at least drag him in by the front of his shirt and kiss him until he can’t breathe. Maybe he thought Cas would change his mind entirely and ask him to leave.

None of those things happen though. Like the other 999 times Dean has been to Cas's apartment, Cas walks in, strips off his tie, tosses it on the back of a dining room chair, unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, and opens the fridge to get a beer. "You want one?" he asks Dean, staring at the selection that takes up two-thirds of the contents of the fridge.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, brows furrowed in confusion.

This is the point when a normal beer-lover would ask what kind he wants. But because this is Cas, he immediately grabs Dean’s favorite beer and hands it to him.

Dean takes it, and watches as Cas crosses in front of him, sits on one side of the couch, and flips on a football game.

This is weird for multiple reasons:

One, not an hour ago, Cas made Dean come in his pants. In public. With his foot.

Two, Cas is acting like none of it – the sexting, the phone sex, the foot job – even happened.

Three, Cas doesn’t even _like_ football.

Dean blinks.

Cas raises the bottle to his lips and takes a gulp of beer while watching the game, apparently not caring that Dean is standing in the middle of his living room and gaping at him.

Suddenly, Dean understands.

He’s played this game a million times before, but he didn’t recognize it until now because he’s always been on the other side of it.

The Cold Shoulder.

Dean can't believe it. It’s just so fucking _juvenile_.

But damn if it’s not effective at making Dean want Cas a hundred times more than he already does.

What Cas doesn’t seem to realize, though, is that when Dean Winchester plays games, he plays them to win.

Dean sits down on the opposite end of the couch and opens his beer, tossing the cap on the table.

Cas takes his shoes off and lifts his feet onto the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles, and pulls another sip of his drink.

Dean’s dick twitches in his pants. He is suddenly  _fucking pissed_ that Cas, in the span of a fucking hour, has managed to give him a foot fetish he never fucking wanted.

As Dean is trying to tear his eyes away from Cas’s feet, Cas asks, “Did your brother text you yet?”

“Huh?” Dean responds, distracted. “Oh. I don’t know. Why?”

A tiny smirk plays at the corner of Cas's lips. “To see if we won.” 

“Oh.” Dean pulls out his phone and checks his texts.

He has one from the fucker sitting one couch cushion away from him.

He opens it. It’s a picture. Of himself. At trivia. His eyes are closed and the tops of his cheeks are pink. He has his bottom lip between his teeth and his hands are clutching the edge of the table. His face is contorted in pleasure which he is obviously trying to hide, because his head is turned slightly toward the wall.

The text below it reads:

_C: You're so fucking sexy when you're about to come._

Dean takes a sharp breath inward and refuses to look at Cas, who is undoubtedly still watching football like he gives a shit about it at all.

 _Game on_ , Dean thinks.

He puts his phone away and takes a drag of his beer. Looking at Cas and trying to hide a smile, he says, “No word from Sam. Hey, you wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure,” Cas replies, casual.

“You mind if I pick one out?”

In response, Cas nods toward the bookcase in the corner with a shelf of DVDs on it.

Dean walks over to it and immediately squats down to the bottom shelf, which is a drawer. He opens it to find – _bingo_ – Cas’s porn collection.

Like shooting fish in a fucking barrel.

Dean picks out a promising one, titled _Devil’s Threesome_ , and turns around to put the DVD in the player.

He can feel Cas’s eyes boring holes into the back of his head, but stays silent while Dean starts the “movie.”

Dean clamors back onto the couch, takes off his shoes, and kicks up his feet, smug smile across his lips.

Tension in the air increases as Dean watches a curvy, sexy, brunette professor, Bela, in a tight-fitting suit, bursting with cleavage, coerce two male students, Michael and Gad, into fucking her to improve their grades.

Michael presses Bela down on the desk and slowly slides down between her legs, shoving her skirt up to reveal no panties, and laps at her cunt while she drags Gad down by his tie to kiss her.

Dean puts his hand under his shirt and starts gently trailing his fingers across the smooth skin above the waistline of his jeans, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down.

The scene cuts away to Bela bent over her desk, skirt shoved up around her waist, top completely discarded but for a bra pushed down underneath her breasts to reveal small, pointed, pink nipples atop perfectly round Cs. Michael is still on his knees and shoving his tongue into her slit from behind, while Gad is on the other side of the desk, hand on the back of her head, and shoving his cock into her mouth repeatedly.

Dean lifts his shirt up to his chest and lets his hands slowly graze up to his nipples, teasing them, and then twisting them between his thumb and forefinger so hard that he hisses.

He feels Cas fidget across the couch, and turn his attention to Dean.

Michael stands up to discard all of his clothes except for his tie. He lines his cock up with Bela’s cunt and slicks himself up with her wetness, gliding up and down while raking his hands over her back. She lifts off of Gad’s cock to pump it with her fist, and Michael finally shoves himself in her cunt and thrusts into her, fast and hard. When Bella wraps her lips around Gad’s cock again, the powerful thrusts of Michael’s hips do the work of bobbing up and down for her. She reaches up and toys with Gad’s sack, and he looks up at the ceiling and groans. The wet, slapping noises intensify as Michael thrusts into her harder and harder, and Bela moans with unabashed pleasure onto Gad’s cock.

Dean is hard as a rock, cock bulging inside the pant leg of his jeans. He readjusts himself so that it’s pointing upward toward his stomach, head again sticking out the top of the jeans, bright red and beginning to leak. It strains under the pressure of his pants so much that it borders on uncomfortable, and Dean wants to relieve the tension, but he wants to play with Cas more, so he brings two fingers to his lips and sinfully licks around them, bringing them back down to his nipple to rub it in circles while, with his other hand, he scratches and rubs his abdomen and chest.

The scene cuts away again, and now all three of them are completely naked. Gad is sitting on the desk and Bela is on his lap, her back to him, and bouncing on top of his cock. He lifts up her knees and spreads them wide so that Michael can fit between her legs and shove his dick slowly into her hole, stretching it wide with two cocks deep inside it. She lets out a raucous moan, and the three of them begin gliding against each other in unison.

Cas is turned completely toward Dean, ignoring the porn, and staring at him with an expression of intense, wanton lust. From his peripheral vision, Dean can see him lick his lips, the glint of the metallic stud making Dean’s dick jump against the tight strain of his pants.

When Cas finally speaks, his voice is back to the same deep, sultry gravel that it was when they had phone sex. “Take off your shirt, Dean.”

Dean’s dick is so hard that the uncomfortable tightness of his pants across the tip of his cock is almost painful. Without looking at Cas, Dean leans forward and pulls his shirt over his head.

When he leans back, he smirks when Cas lets out a small, barely audible gasp. He can feel Cas’s eyes trail over his body, and it makes his mind almost unravel with the need to touch himself.

Cas un-tucks his shirt, unbuckles his belt, and unbuttons his pants, leaning back against the armrest of the couch, legs spread apart while he reaches into his fly and whips out his own stiff dick.

Dean wants to look, wants to get an eyeful, but he forces himself not to, because this is a game, and he’s going to fucking win it, even if it kills him.

He presses his palm down on his dick over his jeans and rubs it, sliding it slowly up and down his length, when Cas finally rumbles, “Take out your cock.”

Dean unbuttons his jeans and zips down his fly, slowly reaching in his pants and stroking himself under the fabric of his boxers, playing with himself so that Cas can't see.

Cas growls. “I said, take out your cock. I won’t tell you again.”

Dean smirks, eyes still trained on the TV. “Or what?”

Cas huffs a laugh and says in a loud whisper, “You’ll be punished.”

Dean’s dick leaps into his hand and he can’t stifle the gasp that escapes him.

Cas laughs, low and quiet. “I think you’d like your punishment, Dean. I would tie you up and whip your ass raw, put clips on your nipples and a dildo down your throat. You’re such a slut, I bet you’d _love_ it. I bet you would beg for me to put my dick inside you, spread you wide while I slap your ass until you scream.”

Dean clenches his jaw to stifle down the loud moan that threatens to escape him, and finally relieves his dick from his boxers, pushing them down to his balls so his entire length is resting in his palm.

“Touch yourself,” Cas says, voice wrecked and panting.

Dean strokes himself, slowly, the throbbing ache of needing to be touched slowly abating as he pools cum onto his hand and slicks himself with it. His fist makes slapping, wet noises as he fucks it. He bites down on his lip, hard, and tries to focus more on the porn in front of him than on Cas watching him, because the latter is so much fucking hotter than the former that he could come just from watching Cas watch him.

Bela is on her hands and knees on top of the desk, Gad underneath her, playing with her breasts, and Michael behind her, hands on her hips as she shoves herself backward onto both of them, her own hand circling her clit. All three of their faces are contorted in intense pleasure, and finally, Bella screams out as she comes, rocking backward onto Gad and Michael harder and harder until they simultaneously spill their loads inside of her, shuddering their hips slowly to a halt. Bela lifts off of them and sits up straight, cum dripping down her thighs and pooling onto Gad’s stomach.

As his breath quickens, Dean dares a glance at Cas, who is leaning back and slowly stroking himself, his other arm draped across the back of the couch. His pupils are dilated and his face is bright red, etched into an expression of stern concentration as he takes Dean in with his gaze.

Dean trails his eyes down Cas’s body and stops at his stomach. A small triangle of skin on his abs is peeking out, and more of the pattern that’s around Cas’s arm is drawn across his hipbone and downward into his pants.

Dean wants to taste it. He wants that skin on his lips and between his teeth. He wants to lick every inch of that goddamn tattoo, the blue and gray and green swirls of color and intricate pattern of completely mysterious origin. He can’t even tell what it is.

“Keep your eyes on the television, Dean.”

Dean smirks and stares at Cas, pumping his cock harder and faster, twisting his fist at the top in such a way that the familiar burning coil in his stomach tightens.

Challenging, he asks again, “Or what?”

Cas stands up gracefully and crosses in front of Dean, stepping onto the couch with each foot on either side of Dean’s hips. He’s standing on the couch, cock inches in front of Dean’s face. It’s swollen red and shiny with wetness, long and thick, and Cas strokes it with a loose fist.

Dean has never wanted anything in his mouth more.

Compulsively, Dean leans forward, but Cas reaches down and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, stopping and pulling backward so that Dean is looking into his fierce blue eyes, which look back down at him while he pumps himself faster over Dean's face.

Dean’s mouth is open and panting, and he loses his rhythm, jacking himself in quick, short, twisting jerks of his hand.

Cas’s breath is ragged, letting out low moans as he keeps his eyes trained down at Dean.

“I want you to come now, Dean,” he rumbles, gripping Dean’s hair and pulling back harder.

Dean doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to submit to Cas. He has to win this game they’re playing because he’s Dean fucking Winchester, goddammit, and he _does… not… lose._

 _“Dean,”_ Cas growls in warning, gripping his hair tighter so that it's painful, and it’s that single word, that warning bark of authority that finally pushes Dean over the edge and he shouts, coming all over his fist and stomach and chest, warm wetness dripping down his torso as he stares into Cas’s eyes, breathing deep and heavy.

Cas takes in a sharp breath and the hand on his fist suddenly stops. His mouth falls open and he lets out a cry of pleasure as he spills his load over Dean’s face, landing on Dean's chin and in his mouth, trickling across his cheeks and down his neck.

Finally letting go of Dean’s hair, Cas steps down from the couch and collapses back into his seat, breathless. When he finally catches his breath, he asks, “You want another beer?”


	5. A Tame Introduction to Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is inspired by [this video.](http://youtu.be/PQZC7sNwbUk) Thanks for the spank bank fodder, Misha!

A week passes and Dean ignores all of Cas's text messages.

He sends Internet memes, and Dean doesn't reply.

He sends funny cat pictures, and Dean doesn't reply.

He sends _Archer_ quotes, and Dean doesn't reply.

Dean skips trivia on Tuesday and opts instead to drink beer and watch _Archer_ , typing out his favorite quotes and saving them in a note doc to send to Cas when he's done being mad at him.

Dude can't just jizz on his face and expect everything to be a-o-fucking-kay after that.

It wasn't that Dean minded being _jizzed on_ , per se – it was fucking hot as hell and Dean has been begrudgingly beating off to it ever since – it was that he minded Castiel immediately ignoring the fact that it happened at all. It makes Dean feel like he's going crazy, like he's having these vivid hallucinations about Cas wanting him but they're not allowed to talk about it.

Of course, Dean could always own up to it and bring it up himself, but Cas is always the one to initiate this shit, so he should be the one to jumpstart the chick flick, _"But what_ are _we?"_ moment that will inevitably occur as a result.

By Thursday, Dean has run out of shit to watch on Netflix, and he's run out of beer too, and he's really tired of ordering an absurd amount of pizza and then calling for a roommate he doesn't have when it arrives so that the pizza guy doesn't think he's going to eat the whole damn thing by himself.

Dean is wallowing.

And it's fucking _pathetic_.

Thursday means Cas is at home grading weekly reading prompts, so Dean dresses in his favorite button-up, a black v-neck, and his nicest jeans – rather, the only pair without holes and motor oil stains – and drives to Cas's apartment.

When Dean knocks at the door, he realizes he has no idea what the fuck he's even doing.

Cas opens the door looking irate, then sees Dean and his eyes widen in surprise, mouth slightly parted, and with a tiny smudge of red ink on his cheek.

They stare at each other a long moment, silent, hesitating on this precipice between best friends and dudes-who-foot-fuck-in-public that they've enigmatically managed to build.

Dean swallows. Before he can stop himself, he barges into Cas's apartment and slams the door behind him, grabs Cas's face between his hands and leans in.

Cas's eyes are blown wide with shock and his pupils are dilated. His perfect pink mouth is still open and his eyes shift between Dean's, looking for an answer to this crazy behavior, as though Cas hadn't beaten off on Dean's face just a week ago.

Dean smirks, reveling in Cas's surprise, and flicks his eyes down to Cas's lips, plump and delicious. When he's barely an inch away from Cas's face, Dean stops, and looks back up into Cas's eyes before asking, voice a deep rumble, "May I?"

Cas, of course, doesn't respond with words. Instead, his brow furrows in anger and he bunches Dean's shirt into his fists, then slams him back against the door before crushing Dean's mouth with his own.

They go from zero to sixty in a split second. One minute, Cas's lips are on Dean, and the next Cas's tongue is sliding into his mouth and his knee is forcing its way between Dean's, rocking his hip onto Dean's cock which is getting hard so fast, it almost hurts.

The stud flicking against Dean's tongue adds an extra layer of electricity to the kiss, the fire burning even hotter, and Dean chases it around, feeling it periodically clack against teeth and all he can think about is how it would feel sliding up the underside of his dick.

Dean can't stifle his muffled groans into Cas's mouth which is fervently devouring him. His hands are threaded in Cas's hair, pulling it slightly and pushing Cas closer to him until his hips are rocking onto Cas's thigh like a pathetic fucking teenager in the backseat of a car.

Cas takes Dean's throat in his hand and nudges his head to the side so that his neck is exposed, breaking the kiss and sucking wide, sloppy kisses down Dean's throat, which he grazes roughly with his teeth, biting down on his flesh hard enough that Dean gasps.

Between kisses, Cas growls out, wrecked and angry, "You think you can come into my fucking home and seduce me, you fucking slut?" He bites down, hard, and sucks a patch of skin between his teeth while lifting the hem of Dean's shirt and trailing his hands under it, grabbing at Dean's back with his nails and pulling them even closer together.

Dean lets out a cry, hands still tangled in Cas's hair, mind reeling with pleasure and pain, unable to keep up with Cas. All he can do is buckle up and hold on tight, because Cas is going a mile a minute, mouth greedily pressing against every inch of exposed skin, leaving rough red marks in his path and scratching, grabbing, groping everywhere his hands can reach.

Suddenly, Cas pulls away, takes a step back, visibly trembling, and stares at Dean. He swallows audibly.

Cas balls his fists up at his sides to keep them to himself, jaw clenched, breathing heavy, keeping the beast at bay and looking positively _wrecked_.

Looking Dean right in the eye, Cas says, "The safeword is Nickelback."

Dean doesn't have time to fully contemplate how fucking ridiculous that safeword is because he's too busy trying to figure out what the hell Cas even means.

Then he gets it.

It was a statement, but it was also a question. This is Cas giving Dean an out. This is Cas relinquishing power to Dean because they're about to cross into all sorts of territory that is completely foreign to him.

Dean stares at Cas, and Cas waits patiently for acknowledgment, like holding a treat in front of a puppy and telling it to stay while slowly walking backward. Cas looks like a string about to snap, but his resolve is just proof that he knows what the fuck he's doing, and he can be trusted with a safeword, as weird as his happens to be. He's giving Dean the power of setting the boundaries.

Smirking, Dean nods once.

That's all it takes before Cas is on him again, his tongue down Dean's throat and hands on Dean's hips, grasping them so hard, it'll leave bruises.

Dean suddenly realizes that he _wants_ bruises. He wants hickeys and scratch marks and muscle soreness tomorrow. He wants to give himself to this storm of a man that he's never been able to quite put his finger on and which makes him endlessly fascinating to Dean. He wants to ride this rollercoaster straight to hell.

Cas drags Dean's overshirt off of his shoulders and drops it to the ground, then pushes up the hem of Dean's t-shirt and yanks it up over his head, immediately sinking back down to explore the new expanse of skin at his disposal.

Wrapping his lips around Dean's nipple and biting down, making Dean wail in surprise, Cas unbuckles Dean's belt with deft fingers and snakes it out of their loops with a snap, throwing it to the ground and then unbuttoning and unzipping Dean's jeans.

Dean steps out of his shoes while Cas yanks down his pants, pulling them off of him with his socks so quickly that Dean falls back onto the door.

Cas slowly rises back up Dean's body, raking it over with his eyes, heady with desire, and panting. When he reaches Dean's lips again, he crushes their mouths together and Dean gasps while Cas touches and caresses and roughly grabs at Dean's body, consuming him completely.

Running his fingers up into Dean's hair and pulling, Cas growls, "Is this what you want, Dean? You want to fuck me? You want to shove that beautiful, huge cock in my ass?"

It vaguely crosses Dean's mind that he doesn't get the dynamic of subbing and topping at the same time, but the only thing that really hits home in his mind is, _"God_ , yes."

Cas smirks into Dean's neck and replies, "Good," then breaks away from Dean while tugging firmly on his hair and dragging him across the room.

"Ow ow ow," Dean says while Cas spins a dining room chair around and throws Dean down onto it. "Shit, Cas, what the fuck was that for?"

Cas bends down and grasps Dean gently by the throat, kissing him quickly and pulling away. Looking him in the eye, he replies, "Don't whine, slut. You're not ready for the kind of punishment that I will be more than happy to inflict on you."

Dean's dick jumps and he can't help the pitiful whine that escapes his throat.

He had no idea he would be into this kinky shit, moreover _gay_ kinky shit, but he has never been more turned on in his life than right now, watching Cas pick Dean's belt up off the floor and tying Dean's hands together behind the back of the chair.

Cas tests the binds with a quick tug of his finger in the strap, and circles back around in front of Dean.

Dean stares at him as Cas slowly brings his hands up and unbuttons his shirt, the release of every button exposing more and more of skin, so that by the time he reaches the bottom, Dean is wide-eyed and almost drooling. He fights against his restraints impulsively, to no avail. Cas has him bound tight.

Cas lets his shirt fall from his chest and Dean can finally see that damn tattoo that has been picking at the edges of his mind since they re-met months ago.

As far as Dean can tell, it's an enormous wing, and also waves of the sea, starting with the tips at Cas's wrist and twisting up his arm to his shoulder, where it threads its way around Cas's entire side, intricate gray and blue and green swirls of different religious images: a cross over his heart, a face of stone on his ribcage, and more feathers outlining the shape of his hipbone.

Cas reaches forward and caresses Dean's face while unbuttoning his pants with the other hand. He presses his thumb into Dean's mouth and Dean sucks on it, swirling his tongue around the pad, and Cas growls, reaching into his pants and stroking himself beneath the fabric as Dean licks sinfully around it.

"You have such a filthy fucking mouth, Dean," Cas groans, looking and sounding completely fucked.

Listening to Cas's voice forces out a bead of cum at the tip of Dean's rigid cock, slowly peaking and then sliding down the length of it.

Cas removes his thumb from Dean's mouth, lowers his pants and steps out of them, revealing an utterly, intimidatingly-sized prick, fully hard and shiny with wetness. Cas backs up to the wall by the bookshelf, and opens the bottom drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube, and sits down, cross-legged, facing the wall.

"What're you doing?" Dean asks.

"Just watch," Cas replies, lying on his back and twisting his hips upward over his head so that his legs are touching the ground above him and his ass is toward the ceiling. He shoves his arms between his thighs and Dean now has a full view of everything Cas has to offer.

It might be the hottest thing Dean has ever seen.

But Dean stands corrected when Cas lubes up his fingers and tosses the bottle away, circling his own entrance and pressing both fingers into himself slowly, breathing in deep and then breathing back out when his fingers slide all the way in.

Dean chokes back a groan. " _Jesus_ , Cas."

 _This_ is the hottest thing Dean has ever seen, Cas pumping into himself with his own hand, in full view of Dean, who can't do a damn thing about it but stare on and stutter his hips, fucking compulsively into air and dying of the need for friction.

Dean stands corrected a second time when Cas lifts his head between his legs and takes his cock into his own mouth, the glint of the metallic tongue stud rolling around his head.

Moaning, Dean fidgets and fights against his restraints, barely risking a blink so that he doesn't miss a second of this, Cas wide open and fucking himself, sucking himself, pressing against his own prostate until he jerks and yelps in pleasure.

He adds a third finger, scissoring himself open, and Dean thinks that this is going to be how he dies: tied to a chair watching his best friend fuck himself senseless while not being able to do a goddamn thing about it but have a fucking heart attack over how insanely fucking sexy this entire situation is.

Cas starts panting and sucking himself more fervently, fucking into himself with his fingers faster and harder, his muscles tense, but before he can come, he abruptly stops and pulls out of himself gently, rolling over on all fours and gasping for breath.

 _"Fuck,"_ Dean growls, wanting to witness more but wanting to be touched even more than that. "Cas," he pleads. "Please, man. _Please."_

Cas stands, trembling, and huffs a laugh, stepping into Dean's space and leaning down to kiss him, rough and tasting like himself, and Dean almost comes right then and there with the taste of Cas, salty and sweet in his own mouth, flicking the bead of his stud around the tip of Dean's tongue.

Breaking away, Cas walks back to bookcase, squatting down and getting a condom from the drawer, crossing back to Dean and sinking down onto his knees between his legs.

Dean leans back and opens his legs wider while Cas leans forward and blows on the head of Dean's cock. It jumps, and Dean rasps out a moan. Finally, Cas leans closer and barely grazes the bulging vein on the underside of his dick with just the bead of his tongue stud, and Dean cries out at the small touch, so sensitive he could come at any second.

Cas sinks deeper between Dean's legs and licks a relieving stripe up the length of Dean's cock, circling around the head, and wrapping his lips completely around the tip to suck slowly downward over his shaft.

Dean is close to hyperventilating as Cas bobs up and down Dean's dick at an agonizingly slow pace, then takes Dean's entire length in his mouth, all the way down his throat, and stops when he reaches the base, swallowing around it, throat constricting against his head.

Dean shouts, then bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from coming.

Cas raises himself off of Dean's dick with a pop, and tears open the condom package to roll it over Dean and pull him further forward on the chair, so that he's slumped and his cock is pointing straight up.

Standing, Cas looks down at Dean and runs his thumb across the length of Dean's lower lip before straddling his thighs.

He grips the back of the chair with one hand and steadies Dean's cock with his other, impaling himself slowly, face set in a carnal grimace.

Dean's breath hitches as Cas finally bottoms out with a guttural moan and sits there, still, breathing shallow breaths while Dean concentrates on not spilling his load into Cas's ass.

Cas leans forward and cups Dean's face in his hand, bringing him in for a deep, languid kiss, while slowly beginning to rock on top of Dean, lifting himself up and bringing himself back down, increasing his pace.

Dean thrusts up into Cas and they find a rhythm, rocking against each other hard and fast.

 _"Fuck_ , Dean," Cas growls, panting and babbling. "You're so good. You're so good, and you're such a dirty fucking whore." He grabs the back of Dean's head and pulls his hair back, leaning forward and sucking on Dean's throat. "You're so huge Dean. _G_ _od_ , I've wanted your dick inside me for so long... you're filling me up, Dean. You hit..." Cas lets out a sharp cry. "...just the right spot. You feel so good inside me, spreading me open with your giant fucking prick. I'm going to feel this for a week, Dean. Every time I sit down, I'm going to think about how you fucked me open."

Dean clenches his teeth and his vision blurs at the edges. He's so close to gone and he's fighting so hard to keep his composure that his breath is ragged and he can't say anything but Cas's name, coming out in harsh breaths that sound like a prayer, pleading for something Dean can't remember because every nerve in his body is firing in euphoria. His wrists are burning against the edges of his leather belt and sweat is trickling down his forehead.

Cas takes his own cock in his hand and strokes it, loose, twisting at the top, and the combination of the slapping noise Cas makes and the fucking and the breathy moans create the most beautiful music Dean has ever heard, filthy, slick sounds of wetness and Cas pounding himself on top of Dean, every muscle in Dean's body tense, like the strings of a violin that Cas is tuning.

Dean is like a violin string about to break, wound up so tight, he could pop at any moment.

 _"Cas_ , _"_ Dean groans in warning. _"Close,"_ is the only word he can manage to choke out.

"Me too, Dean," Cas replies, voice breaking as he shoves himself harder and faster onto Dean's cock, pumping himself with his fist, and Dean grinds into him, wanting to dive deeper and harder and faster.

The room starts spinning and Dean is almost there. "Cas," he sobs. "Can I..." he trails off, mind too fucking obliterated to finish his question.

"Yes, Dean. Come for me. Come inside me. Come _right now_." Cas thrusts once more onto Dean and stills, letting out a cry as he jerks himself in quick, small thrusts, cum pooling over onto his fist and onto Dean's stomach and chest.

Dean screams as he comes, hips shuddering up into Cas, whose ass clenches around him, and opens his eyes to watch the blissful contortion of Cas's face as he rides out the waves of his own orgasm.

Breathless, Cas gently lifts himself off of Dean and stumbles around the chair to undo the belt around Dean's wrists.

Dean lifts his arms and evaluates the damage, catching his breath and stroking his fingers around the burns. He smirks, loving the thought of the looks he's going to get at work tomorrow, and being able to think back to tonight.

Then he remembers. Dean looks up at Cas, who is reaching down to pick up his boxers from the floor, and asks, incredulous, "What the hell kind of a safeword is _Nickelback?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't get the Nickelback reference, [read this.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1467634/chapters/3092755)


	6. The Punishment

To Dean's incessant confusion, everything is back to normal again. He and Cas banter via text just like they always have. It's not until Saturday night that Dean receives a text from Cas continuing their... whatever it is that's happening between them.

Dean's phone buzzes and he picks it up off his stomach to check it.

_C: Come over._

No 'please,' no explanation, no question. Just a command. _Come over._

Dean, who – pathetically enough – isn't actually doing anything on said Saturday night, smirks at the text, hesitating before he replies.

Cas doesn't have to know that Dean is just sitting in his boxers, eating fast food, and shotgunning _Law & Order_.

He types out:

_D: Can't. Busy._

_C: You're lying._

_D: No I'm not._

_C: Yes you are, Dean. If I know you well, which I do, you're probably eating Taco Bell and watching SVU._

Another text comes in immediately following it:

_C: You should know, liars get punished._

Imagining Cas's voice saying those words makes Dean's dick twitch, but he steels himself against the impulse to go over to Cas's place _right fucking now,_ and replies:

_D: 1. It's Burger King, 2. Criminal Intent, not SVU, and 3. Fuck you, I'm still too busy to come over at your beck and fuckin call._

_C: I'll tell you again. Come over._

A grin spreads across Dean's face.

_D: Make me._

Dean's phone rings, and he answers it. When he puts the phone to his ear, he doesn't say anything, just smiles and waits.

After a moment, voice deep and breathy, barely hiding his lust, Cas says, "Dean Winchester, if you are not in my apartment and bent over my bed in twenty minutes, I swear, the next time I see you, I will do utterly depraved, _filthy_ things to you. Even if we're in public. I will shove my hand down your pants and jack you so hard, so fast, and when you're almost there, I'll just stop. And then I'll do it again. And again. And again. You know what I'm going to do then, Dean?"

Dean's face is flushed and his boxers are tented, and he doesn't want to reply, but he can't help when he asks, challenging, "What are you gonna do, Cas?"

Cas huffs a laugh. "I'm going to leave."

Dean palms his dick over the thin fabric of his boxers and puts his lip between his teeth to stifle a moan. 

There's a brief silence, then Cas says simply, "Come over, Dean," and hangs up.

Now that Dean is all riled up and thinking about that sharp jaw with all the stubble on it and the bright blue, wild eyes that go along with the voice that just fucking _wrecks_ Dean every time he hears it, he turns off the TV and gets dressed in a button down that he maybe bought last week for just such an occasion to wear it, knowing he'll just be naked again within the next half hour.

He hopes.

***

Dean knocks on Cas's door, and it flies open. Cas's hair is crazier than usual and his shirt is half unbuttoned. He looks positively salacious, and stares at Dean for just a moment before bunching Dean's shirt in his fist and dragging him in the apartment, crashing their mouths together in a searing kiss, slamming the door shut behind them.

Breaking away, Dean smirks, loving the idea that Cas wants him so much, and asks, "What, no 'Hello, Dean'?"

Cas narrows his eyes and pulls Dean toward him, lips barely hovering over Dean's, and flicks his gaze down to them, then back up, smoldering stare burning holes right into Dean's soul. Voice rough and hard as sandstone, quiet yet commanding, Cas replies, "Hello, Dean."

That voice and that stare are all it takes for Dean to be as hard as a horny teenager watching porn for the very first time. His pants are suddenly uncomfortably tight and he hopes Cas gets on with the show because there's no way he's going to survive this night if Cas doesn't go balls-out crazy on him instead of teasing him relentlessly for once.

As if Cas can read his goddamn mind, he pulls Dean by the shirt down the hallway and into his bedroom. Cas moves so fast that Dean almost trips over his own feet in an effort to keep up, eyes trained on the detail of the grey feathers wrapped around Cas's forearm.

With an uncanny amount of strength, Cas throws Dean into the small bedroom and onto the king size bed which takes up most of it.

Dean bounces on it and props himself on his elbows, grinning up at Cas.

Cas stands next to the bed, and his stony, furious expression momentarily abates. He softens, and his eyebrows lift, crinkling his forehead in concern. "Do you remember the safeword?"

Dean huffs a laugh. "How could I forget it?"

He swallows audibly and asks, tentative, "Do you trust me?"

Dean drops his smile, and replies seriously, "Of course I do, Cas."

"Good." Cas's expression returns to its angry glare, and he glowers down at Dean, appraising his body with his eyes, raking them up and down as he decides what he wants to do with him. He traces a finger down the center of Dean's chest and, corners of his lips twitching up, says, "Like I already mentioned, Dean... liars receive punishment."

Dean can't stifle the manic grin that stretches across his face, and Cas turns his attention to it.

"You won't be smiling for long. And don't get too comfortable where you are."

Cas opens the bedside table drawer and Dean notices his surroundings for the first time.

There's a chain hanging from the ceiling with an S hook in it. Paddles, whips, crops, and floggers are anchored to the walls around them. There's an intricate-looking swing hanging from the ceiling in the opposite corner, and a large, wooden plank propped up against one wall with buckles and cuffs hanging off of it.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean whispers. "You are into some kinky shit."

"So I've been told," Cas replies, and while Dean's gaze his set on the swing trying to figure out how it works, a strip of leather slaps against his wrist.

"What the–" Dean stares down at the cuff while Cas gracefully buckles it and checks the tightness, digging his finger between Dean's wrist and the cuff. Then he crosses over Dean's body and grabs his other wrist, pulling Dean from his position on his elbows so that he lands on his back.

Cas cuffs his other hand. The chain between the cuffs is long, and Dean has plenty of give.

"Stand up," Cas commands.

Dean complies, wondering how the hell he's going to get his clothes off while handcuffed.

Cas pulls him by the center of the cuffs and reaches up the chain hanging from the ceiling to lower the S hook.

It occurs to Dean that whoever used the chain before him was taller than himself, and his stomach twists into a knot that he pointedly ignores.

Yanking the cuffs upward, Cas slides the center link of the chain between Dean's wrists up and onto the S hook so that Dean's hands are hanging above his head. He still has give, but not enough that it would be an easy task to maneuver himself off the chain.

Cas goes about setting up the scene like he sets up his classroom. Dean went with him the week before the school year started, watching Cas flit around his new room, decorating and getting everything exactly as he wanted it for the upcoming school year. It was a methodical process, almost meditative. While Cas gets everything ready, Dean sees that familiar stare in his eyes, the intense concentration, thoroughness, and preciseness he puts into all his worthy endeavors.

English teacher Cas, however, is not the Cas who is in front of Dean right now, parting Dean's lips with his tongue and unbuttoning Dean's jeans to reach inside and adjust his cock, still hard, up into his hand, stroking firm and even until Dean gasps into Cas's mouth, "I thought this was supposed to be punishment?"

"Don't worry," Cas replies, licking the length of Dean's lower lip, the bead of his tongue stud dragging across it, sending a shiver up Dean's spine. "It will be."

Cas squats down and pulls Dean's pants off of him, guiding his feet out of his shoes and socks and pant legs until he's naked from the waist down, cool air breezing against his stiff cock.

Standing back up, Cas unbuttons Dean's shirt slowly, devouring him with his eyes until his chest is revealed, and Cas runs his hands over Dean's body, gentle, raking his fingers back up it until he gets chills.

"Still not seeing how this is punishment," Dean says with a pleasant shudder.

Cas tilts his head to the side, staring at Dean's chest as he flicks both of his nipples, hard, with his thumbs. "You're such an impatient little slut, Dean. You're just begging for me to fuck you."

Although he knew this would happen somewhere deep inside his sad little brain, Dean didn't fully realize until this moment that he would actually be bottoming.

Strangely, the thought doesn't scare him. With anyone else, Dean would probably be intimidated, or freak the fuck out, but like their entire friendship, it just feels normal to want to take Cas's cock in his ass in whatever way Cas wants to deliver it.

It's a heady thought, made worse only when Cas leans in and sucks marks onto Dean's collarbone, licking it, biting at the flesh of his shoulders, not sharp, but deep, building the pressure of his bites slowly, so that the pain feels more like a release than a pinch.

Dean gasps as he pulls down at the chains holding him up, suddenly wanting to touch Cas the way Cas is touching him, but he can't. He's trapped, completely at the will of this sex god of a man.

He thinks he understands what Cas meant by punishment.

There is no way Dean is going to survive this.

Cas breaks away from Dean, hands reluctantly letting go of Dean's hips, and circles around behind him. Dean can hear him moving items around in a drawer, and then he feels a cold, metallic clink on one of his ankles. He looks down as Cas shifts his other leg further apart, and cuffs his other ankle.

Between his legs is a long, silver bar, rendering him unable to move. His feet are far enough apart that he has to sink down further into the restraints on his wrists, and it pulls his arms higher, but he still has give.

Next to Dean's ear, Cas presses himself against Dean's back and whispers, "I've been wanting to get a closer look at these beautiful bow legs of yours for a long time, Dean."

With one hand on his hip, Cas trails the other up and pushes Dean forward, rough, until he's bent at a sixty degree angle, and would fall were his weight not thoroughly reliant on the chain dangling from the ceiling.

His arms are yanked back and up, taut, and he couldn't regain his balance even if he tried. The precarious position makes his shoulders burn, but it's a good burn, like stretching first thing in the morning.

He's completely splayed out in front of Cas, with only his shirt dangling around his shoulders, and he can feel the fire of Cas's stare over his ass and legs as Cas trails his hands up and down his back, sometimes grabbing, sometimes scratching. He cups Dean's ass in his hands and rubs his own cock, still clothed, against it, growling, "Are you ready for this, Dean? Are you ready for me to fuck into your virgin hole, fuck you wide open with my cock until you're begging for more? Begging for me to fuck you wider, fill you up?" He pulls back, then slaps Dean's ass, and it stings for a few seconds after.

Dean can only choke out a, " _Yes_ ," because his mind is already unraveling with desire. Splayed open like this makes him want to be pushed, makes him want to be fucked, makes him want whatever crazy shit Cas wants to do to him. He wants to take it all. He wants to be good for Cas, just like Cas has been good for him.

Cas lifts Dean's shirt up and mouths gently down his spine, sloppy kisses leaving cool patches of wetness over his back as Cas makes his way downward, stopping at Dean's ass and spreading his cheeks apart.

Dean feels Cas's tongue circling gently around his hole, teasing his entrance, lapping at it, the ball of Cas's tongue stud gently grazing him until Dean is panting, groaning, leaning down further on the chain so that Cas can get better access to him.

He had no idea this would be so fucking amazing.

Cas presses tentatively into his hole with his tongue and Dean moans, guttural, the reverberation of his own vocal chords sending shivers down his spine. Cas darts his tongue in and out just barely, not past the stud, pushing into his hole until it's soaking wet and begging to be opened wider, Dean's muscles relaxing with the feeling of being fucked so gently and thoroughly.

Removing his tongue, Cas circles a finger around the wet hole, slowly pressing inward to the first knuckle and then standing back up, rubbing his other hand all over Dean's backside, fucking in and out with his finger slowly, going deeper and deeper.

Dean's cock is leaking all over him, pre-cum trailing down the shaft and onto his sack, begging to be touched.

Dean chokes out moans every time Cas enters him with his finger, rubbing his back in soothing circular motions so that the ring of muscle relaxes around Cas's deft hands.

"Another," Dean pleads. "Please, Cas..."

Cas huffs a laugh and Dean can feel the breath on the back of his neck. "Not yet."

Dean's legs are trembling with the task of holding him up, his knees are weak, and all he can think about is how much _more_ he wants Cas to give him.

Cas slides his finger out all the way, and circles around to be in front of Dean.

Dean immediately misses the feel of Cas inside him. He feels empty, and the only thought that crosses his mind is the fiery, fervent _need_  for Cas to be on him, in him, everywhere he can possibly be at once so long as he's taking Dean's body and doing whatever the hell he wants with it.

Cas stands in front of Dean and looks him in the eye, silent, while slowly unbuttoning the rest of his own shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders, and throwing it on the bed. He slides his pants off too, and Dean whines at the sight of Cas, intricate tattoo wrapped around his chiseled form; beautiful cock, rock hard just for Dean.

Instinctively, Dean bends forward further, not breaking eye contact with Cas, spreading himself wider, and pleads again, _"Please..."_

Cas smirks and turns to the wall, lifting a leather paddle from its hook. He crosses around behind Dean again, holding the paddle at both ends, and releases it across the width of Dean's ass with a loud _crack!_

Dean sucks in a breath through his teeth as it hits him. It stings, but only for a second, just enough time for Cas to pull back and hit him with it again.

Cas pulls back once more and hits lower this time, across the backs of Dean's thighs, and Dean gasps, his dick jumping up and body tensing from the blissful pain.

"You've been a bad boy, Dean Winchester," Cas begins, voice lilted and quiet. "Tell me you've been bad, Dean. Tell me you're sorry for lying to me. Tell me, Dean." He snaps the paddle across Dean's ass. "Tell me what a bad boy you are."

Dean hisses through his teeth, and manages to whine out, wrecked and whimpering, "I'm bad. I'm sorry, Cas. I'm a bad boy." He lets out a cry as Cas slaps the inside of his thighs. "I won't lie to you again, Cas. I won't."

Cas presses against Dean, rubbing his bare cock against Dean's crack. His skin is cool against the hot welts on Dean's ass as he runs the paddle up and down the inside of Dean's legs. Then he whispers in Dean's ear, breath hot against his neck, "Do you promise?"

Dean nods, and Cas pulls back again, bringing the paddle back down with a crack that echoes through the small room. Dean cries out, " _Y_ _es!_ Cas! Please..."

"I don't believe you, slut," Cas replies, dark and angry. "Your pleas are just more lies. I'll let you know when you've had enough." He keeps slapping Dean with the paddle, gently in some spots, harder in others. He slaps Dean's ass with it so hard that the skin goes raw, each sting lasting longer than the one before. Periodically, Cas caresses part of Dean's body with the paddle, running it up the backs of Dean's legs, the hot leather soothing the reddened, swollen skin.

After what feels like an eternity, Cas stops, and drops the paddle to the ground, then trails his hands gently up the back of Dean's thighs and over his ass, up his back, and back down again.

Cas moves to the bedside table and rustles around in the drawer, picking up a bottle of lubricant and a condom. Dean hears Cas uncap the bottle and then his finger is pressing against his hole again, cold with lube.

He pushes the first finger in easily, sliding back in the way it was just moments ago, and Dean lets out a pleasured sigh, spreading himself as wide open as he can as an invitation for Cas to add another.

Cas's second finger slides in as easily as the first, and he huffs a laugh. "You're just dying for me to fuck you, aren't you?" Cas's fingers scissor back and forth, opening him up wider, and Dean leans more of his weight on the cuffs.  "Answer me, whore!" Cas commands, slapping Dean's ass with the hand that's not pumping furiously into him.

Dean gasps. "Yes! Fuck me, Cas! Please, fuck me!" he yells, lifting his head and pushing back against Cas's fingers, wanting him to go deeper, harder, faster. "For godsakes, Cas, please. I want you inside me. I wanna feel you come in me. Please, Cas, I'm begging you. _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,"_ he chants, delirious with want.

Cas adds a third finger, a low chuckle in his throat, and Dean lolls his head forward while grinding back onto Cas's hand with abandon, stretching himself open over Cas's fingers. "I'm ready, Cas. C'mon... just, please..."

"Tell me you want me to fuck your virgin hole, Dean," Cas commands, and Dean can _hear_ the cocky grin on his face as he says it.

As Cas pumps into him harder and faster, Dean's muscles relaxing more with each thrust, Dean says, "Fuck my... _oh god..._ virgin hole... _Jesus, Cas."_

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you. Can you repeat that for me?"

Cas's fingers graze Dean's prostate and Dean screams.

"No, that doesn't sound like what you were trying to tell me. Try again."

Jaw loose, eyes clenched shut, hips stuttering back onto Cas's hand, Dean yells, "Fuck my virgin hole, Cas! Right _fucking_ _now!"_

Cas's fingers gently slide out of Dean, and Dean waits, poised against his restraints, body tense with anticipation, anxious for Cas to enter him.

He hears Cas tear open the condom package, and then the slick sound of the latex as it slides over his rigid cock.

Dean's own dick is throbbing, swollen and red and soaking wet, so ready to come that Dean thinks if Cas even looks at him the wrong way, he'll go off.

Cas steps forward and slides his dick up and down Dean's crack, grazing his hole, teasing it, until Dean is squirming, spreading himself as wide as he can go given his tied up position, muscles aching as he waits.

Dean whines when Cas breaches him, just barely, and pulls out again. He pushes back in, getting the entire head of his cock in Dean's ass, and pulls out one more time before thrusting in slowly and inching himself the rest of the way into Dean, bottoming out and holding still while Dean relaxes around him, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"Is this good?" he asks, quiet and consoling.

Dean nods, his breath hitching in shallow gasps. Cas's cock is so thick that burns to be opened this wide, but Dean loves it, he loves the feel of Cas inside him, hard for him, wanting him. When he can't take it anymore, he bites out a terse, _"Move,"_ thrusting back onto Cas.

Finally, Cas pulls out and pushes back in. Dean cries out, and Cas does it again, and again, each time making Dean's breath catch in his throat as Cas fucks him open.

Cas quickens his thrusts and eventually pounds into Dean, shoving his hips against Dean's ass and rocking them in circles so that he hits Dean's prostate with every push, and every time, Dean lets out a whimper, or a shout, or a wail.

Periodically, Cas slaps Dean's ass, making the existing welts sting with a fierce burn, and it just adds to the pleasure of it all, Cas's fingers digging into Dean's hips for leverage as he impales Dean with his cock.

Cas's breath is ragged and panting as he steadily fucks into Dean.

It's all too much, and it's not enough at the same time. It's too much sensation, the stinging pain of the spanking, the intensity of Cas slamming into his prostate, the tension that builds up in his abdomen with the necessity to release but nothing touching him that will help make it happen.

Dean's legs finally give out from underneath him, but Cas's grip on his hips is tight as he takes on the brunt of Dean's weight in his strong arms. Dean's shoulders are splayed behind his back, tethered to the chain, and his fingers are numb, his body aches, and all of it, every modicum of pain is actually euphoria because Cas is filling him up, opening him up, taking what he wants.

And, to Dean's immense pleasure, what Cas wants is Dean.

Cas bunches the back of Dean's shirt in one hand from hem to collar and pulls Dean's torso up with it so that their backs are flush together. It's a blissful relief from the strain on his shoulders and Dean moans at how good it feels to be relieved of the tension in his arms. Cas threads the fingers of his other hand in Dean's hair and pulls back so that Dean is looking up, his throat exposed and spine contorted as Cas pounds into him.

He bites and presses kisses against Dean's throat, keeping up his incessant pace, and breathing hot huffs of air onto Dean's neck. Their bodies slide against each other, slick with sweat.

"Dean..." Cas begins, drawing out his name, whispering into his ear between short, quick breaths. _"Fuck_ , Dean, you're so fucking sexy. You're my filthy slut, and I love fucking you open. I love seeing you like this, open wide and taking me in, I love it all, every inch of you, _god, Dean..."_

Cas's hips stutter as he pulls Dean by the hair and shirt back onto his cock, slamming their bodies into each other and thrusting deep inside Dean's ass. He puts an arm around Dean's waist and rolls his hips into him, shallow, erratic thrusts pressing against Dean's sweet spot continually. Dean starts screaming out every ragged breath that escapes his lungs.

Pressed firmly against each other, every inch of Dean's back touching every inch of Cas's front, with one more deep thrust, Cas bites down hard on Dean's shoulder to stifle the shout that escapes him as he comes, hot inside Dean, his knees giving out so that Dean falls forward again, Cas on top of him, chain catching both of them.

After a moment, Cas gently slips out of Dean and takes the condom off with a snap, tossing it in a trashcan.

He circles around Dean, and lifts him up by his neck, bringing their lips together into a messy kiss, both of them still breathless.

It takes Dean a moment to realize that Cas is increasing the pressure on Dean's neck as they kiss, until Dean can't kiss back anymore because he can't breathe.

Cas pulls away, hand still clutching Dean's throat, and stares at him with those intense blue eyes that Dean adores with every ounce of his wrecked body. He trails his hand down Dean's stomach and grabs his cock, firm in his grip, pumping it in quick, long strokes.

Dean still can't breathe, but he's not scared. He trusts those blue eyes more than gravity, the pull of which is exactly what he feels as he falls into the ocean of blue irises that drown him, suffocating him as Cas pumps his slick fist onto Dean, cock swollen and sensitive.

The edges of Dean's vision blur, but a hot coil tightens in the pit of his stomach regardless.

Cas pumps him faster in his fist, grip loosening, twisting at the head, and the only thing Dean can hear is his blood beating in his ears, the roar of his heart trying to beat faster and faster but slowing down with his lack of oxygen.

His grip on Dean's throat is vice-like, fingers digging bruises into his neck.

The blue eyes staring into Dean envelope him completely. He sinks deep into the water, everything getting darker and darker as he falls into the deep, beautiful ocean of Cas's gaze.

"Dean," Cas says, his voice a calming anchor to reality. "Come for me. Come _right now,"_ and abruptly lets go of Dean's throat.

With his first breath of air, Dean comes so hard that his eyes roll into the back of his head, white hot buckets of cum spewing out of him, coating both of them, and Dean shrieks in intense, mind-blowing pleasure and pain. He comes for an eternity, wave upon wave of the ocean in which he almost drowned washing him ashore as he gasps for blessed air.

Finally, he slumps against Cas, and Cas holds him up, reaching his hand up and unhooking Dean from the chain, Dean's arms falling over Cas's shoulders.

Cas drags Dean to the bed and lays him down on it, unbuckling him from the lock at his ankles and the cuffs on his wrists. He gets a towel and cleans both of them off, then positions Dean on the bed so that his head is on a pillow, and Cas covers him up, sliding in bed behind him and wrapping his arm around Dean's waist, pulling him back into his chest and peppering Dean's shoulders with gentle kisses.

Dean is putty against Cas, feeling lighter than air as drowsiness washes over him, Cas's body keeping him safe and warm as he closes his eyes and falls asleep.


	7. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for graphic depictions of panic attacks, safewording, bullying, being outed.

The next morning, Dean wakes up in a big, empty bed he doesn't recognize. Surprisingly, it's been a long time since he's been in such a situation.

He rolls over and sees a chain dangling from the ceiling.

Everything comes flooding back to him.

He tries to sit up, but all the muscles in his body are aching with soreness, specifically an area of his backside that has never been sore before.

Dean lies back down and groans, dragging his hand over his face.

A lot of emotions bubble up one after another in the pit of his stomach, but he sucks at processing through feelings on a good day, let alone the morning after being tied up, fucked, and choked by his best friend. His best _male_ friend.

Dean maintains that he is _not_ gay.

But fuck if that wasn’t the best sex of his goddamn life.

He takes a deep breath.

Furrowing his brow, he breathes in again.

He smells… bacon.

It doesn’t matter how many dicks fucked his ass the night prior, and it doesn’t matter how sore it leaves him, nothing but the hand of God Himself can keep Dean Winchester away from bacon first thing on a Sunday morning.

Or ever.

He rolls out of bed to find the bathroom, stretching and popping his joints in the process, seeing the insane sex dungeon of Cas’s bedroom in the light of day for the first time. Everything they’d used the night before has been neatly put away, and the chain is doubled up onto the S hook.

Standing, Dean stops momentarily to stare at the swing in the corner. He pushes it backward, and the pieces of it move and twirl, strange straps and bars spinning around it.

Dean, who thought he knew everything there was to know about the art of sex, cannot even fathom how the device works. The visual just isn’t happening for him.

He finally locates the master bathroom and sees his clothes neatly folded on top of the toilet seat with a big fluffy towel underneath them, and his keys, wallet, and cell phone on top. There’s a new toothbrush, still in its packaging, on the edge of the sink.

Dean turns on the shower, then stands back up to look at himself in the mirror. There are dull red teeth marks and purple hickeys on his chest, the faded blush of the outline of fingers around his neck, and when he contorts himself to look at his back, bright red welts paint his ass and the backs of his thighs. His lips are puffy and bruised, his hair is standing on end, and his five o’clock shadow is in desperate need of a shave.

When he steps in the shower, the hot water is blissfully soothing, despite the small stinging sensations all over his skin, and it relaxes him, forces his muscles to unwind. He breathes deeply and wonders how the hell he got in this situation, and whether he wants to get out of it or dive right in, because even though he can’t process the all the shit rolling around in his heart, he knows one thing for certain…

Something’s gotta give.

***

Dean steps into the living room, freshly cleaned and feeling slightly better. Cas is in front of the stove, plating up breakfast, and when he turns around, he smiles and says, “Good morning, Dean.”

He’s wearing a pair of pajama pants and nothing else, the worn, navy blue fabric sliding low on his narrow hips, hiding just a few inches of the end of the feather tattoo that trails down his torso.

The table is set except for the plates of food. At Dean’s seat is a small glass of orange juice, a steaming hot cup of coffee exactly how Dean takes it – with a ton of cream and sugar – and a small bottle of Ibuprofen.

“Morning,” Dean mumbles, sitting down. Wincing, he immediately picks up the bottle of painkillers, opens it, and pops two in his mouth, chasing it down with the orange juice.

Cas sets a plate in front of Dean, which is piled high with two eggs over medium – exactly how Dean likes them – three strips of bacon, a pile of hashbrowns, and two slices of toast. Cas takes a seat across from him and peers at Dean expectantly.

Dean avoids his eyes, picking up his fork and breaking open his yolks.

Tentative, Cas asks, “How are you feeling?”

Dean nods around a bite of food, and replies, “Fine.”

“Are you… okay?”

Dean finally meets his gaze. “Yeah, why?”

Cas shrugs. “Just… you know…” he trails off, picking up his own fork and digging in, nonchalant.

“I’m fine,” Dean concludes, terse.

“All right then.” Cas picks up the newspaper from beside his plate and opens it, a silence settling over the table as they both continue eating.

As Cas reads the paper, a heavy knot wells up in Dean’s stomach and the all the air goes out of the room. His vision blurs and everything starts spinning, the blood draining from his face as he watches Cas’s strong yet deft hands pick up his cup of coffee, the lithe muscles in his arm flexing slightly, intricate tattoo dancing with the movement. In the light of day, Dean can see the age in the tattoo, faded and softened, a foreign thing becoming familiar, a piece of Castiel, a work of art on his body that is a facet of who he is, an expression of himself open for all the world to see. It’s big and brave and beautiful, just like Cas–

Dean drops his fork and stands from the table, chair scraping the linoleum beneath him. “I gotta get going.”

Cas looks up from his paper, eyes wide. His shocked expression dissipates and is immediately replaced by the cool, stoic demeanor that he usually adopts. “All right. You’re welcome to stay, though. I don’t have any plans today.”

“Well I do,” Dean replies quickly, regretting how brash he sounds.

Cas’s eyes flicker with something Dean perceives to be hurt, but it disappears a moment later.

Dean swallows and clenches his jaw, meets Cas’s eyes one last time, his expression returned to apathetic and unreadable, and he leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

***

After Dean is home for an hour, curled up on his couch and staring into space, Cas texts him asking if he’s okay.

Dean ignores him.

Cas texts again a couple hours later with three question marks, and Dean ignores that too.

The next day, Cas texts him a series of dog-shaming pictures, and Dean doesn’t look at them.

On Tuesday, Sam texts Dean asking if he’s going to come to trivia, and Dean looks at the clock on his DVR. He’s fifteen minutes late to a weekly obligation so hard-wired into their routines that it only feels weird when one of them doesn’t show up.

Dean realizes that those idiots are going to sink without him, so he puts on his shoes and heads out, if for no other reason than to answer the sports questions that pop up, because he’s pretty sure none of them even know the difference between soccer and baseball.

When he gets there and takes a seat, Cas is across the booth next to Garth, and Sam is directly across from him, so Dean avoids Cas’s gaze the entire evening, opting instead to watch the football game on TV and drink his beer, only answering a question when no one else knows the answer.

By the end of the evening, he’s had a couple beers, and things feel almost back to normal. Sam and Garth had managed to make Dean laugh a few times, and Cas had been as tactful and polite as he always is, only staring at Dean with his eyebrows knit in concern once or twice when Dean had been startled out of his reverie.

They don’t win, but regardless, it feels good to get out of his apartment, like a weight has been momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

The four of them leave the bar, and Dean heads to the Impala, waving at Sam and Garth as they walk toward their respective cars. “See you guys next week.”

He takes his keys out of his pocket and fumbles with them, when a strong hand grabs him by the shoulder and spins him around.

Cas stares at him, angry, and slams Dean against the side of the Impala, fisting Dean's shirt in his hands and crashing their mouths together.

It takes Dean by surprise, and he instinctively kisses back, pulling Cas closer, low growl in his throat as he opens his mouth and deepens the kiss.

After several moments of frantically chasing Cas’s stud with his own tongue, Dean remembers that they’re outside.

In public.

In their hometown, where they both know every motherfucker in a five mile radius.

And every motherfucker in a five mile radius is completely blind to the fact that Dean took it up the ass and _loved it._

But now he has his tongue down the throat of the man who made Dean come with his words and his voice, who foot-fucked him in public, who jizzed on his face, who tied him up and fucked himself on Dean’s cock, and who then tied him up again and choked him until he came so hard he almost fainted.

All of that was private, though. Mostly. All of that was behind closed doors, and Dean was safe in the knowledge that it wasn’t anyone’s damn business that Dean liked getting spanked and choked and fucked by a kinky high school English teacher whose emotions and expressions and motivations are, and have always been, a complete enigma to Dean.

Dean’s budding romantic affections for his tattooed and tongue-studded best friend were secure in his own mind to pick apart in the quiet of his own contemplation, but now, they’re kissing, and it’s deep and passionate, warm and wonderful, fulfilling in a way that nothing has ever been in Dean's sad, simple life.

It gives him butterflies in his stomach, until those butterflies are abruptly clobbered with a sack of bricks slamming him in the gut at the horrific realization that _anyone can see them right now_.

Dean’s father, to whom he so rarely speaks, could turn the corner right fucking now and see Dean – his red-blooded, all-American, heterosexual mechanic of a son – making out with another dude under a street lamp in the parking lot of the most popular bar in town.

Dean remembers high school. He remembers shoving effeminate boys against lockers, strong-arming them and telling them through gritted teeth to quit being such faggots. He remembers teasing them mercilessly, pranking them, doing whatever it took to get a laugh out of his friends.

He never messed with Cas – no one messed with Cas – but a flood of forgotten memories invade his mind, all the times he tortured poor boys, ostracized them for being different, haphazardly hiding his own sexual ambiguity for the sake of rampant masculinity.

This is what’s been making Dean sick, the gross muck at the pit of his stomach that rolls around whenever Cas looks at him like he’s actually worth a damn. This is what Dean has been hiding from. These are the thoughts and feelings and memories he’s been shoving into the back of his head: how dumb and cruel he used to be because he never understood himself, never learned to accept himself, never gave a fuck about anything but the status quo his father instilled in him.

Dean has grown so much in five years, but when he met Cas at the reunion, he still couldn’t put his finger on why this strange man intrigued him so much. And now here they are, Cas always pushing him, forcing him out of the cages in which he locks himself, making him think and feel and grow, standing strong and loyal, unwavering at his side as he invades Dean’s mind and heart and body over and over again.

It’s too much.

Dean Winchester is _not gay_.

The world spins under Dean’s feet and he teeters. He can’t breathe. His heart pounds in his chest, and all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears.

He freezes, trembling, but Cas kisses him deeper, presses him harder against the side of the Impala–

 _“NICKELBACK!”_ Dean shouts, breaking out of the kiss and forcibly pushing Cas away from him.

Cas reels from the shove and regains his balance quickly, taking three more steps back and holding his hands up, breathless, eyes wide and mouth parted.

Dean slides down the length of the car and sits on the ground, curling his knees up into his chest and squeezing his eyes shut, panting.

“Dean,” Cas says, sounding far away, like Dean is underwater. The way he says Dean’s name isn’t angry, nor is it calming. It just _is,_ like everything Cas says.

Shaking his head, Dean takes deep, gulping breaths, trying to will the ground to stop spinning underneath him. Muffled, he groans, “Go away, Cas.”

“I can’t do that, Dean. I’m… I’m not going to touch you, but I request that you please tell me what happened so that I don’t do it again.” Cas takes a tentative step toward Dean, gravel crunching under his feet.

When Dean braves a glance up, Cas is squatting down at Dean’s level and staring at him intently, five feet away.

“I know that you’re generally averse to the concept,” Cas begins, “but we need to talk about this, Dean. I know you well. I mean, I think I know you well, but I can’t read your mind. You have to tell me what you want.”

The fire at the end of Dean’s nerves calms down slowly. The ground is finally solid underneath him, and no one is around. His heart has resumed beating at a normal pace, but he’s still trembling slightly, the fear of being outed abating as tears of relief well up in the corners of his eyes.

He thunks his head against the car and takes a deep breath, looking at the blackened sky above them. “I’m… I’m not gay, Cas.”

In his own mind, he sounds more like he's telling himself than Cas.

Cas hesitates, and says quietly, “I know.”

“Then why are you doing this to me, man?” Dean asks, voice breaking, and looks down from the dark blue sky to meet the dark blue eyes staring straight into his soul. A tear makes its way down Dean’s face and he wipes it away.

Cas clenches his jaw and continues gazing at Dean. His expression is blank, but his eyes are awash with emotion behind them, concern and confusion and something else that Dean thinks might be fear. Without breaking eye contact, still as stone, Cas says, “Because I love you, Dean. I always have, and I always will.”

Dean’s entire body goes numb, and the whirlwind of his mind makes an abrupt halt. He’s paralyzed, blinking at Cas, completely stunned.

Cas continues, “I’m sorry if I misinterpreted that those feelings were reciprocated. I thought…”

After a moment, Dean prods, monotone and barely above a whisper, “You thought what.”

Cas looks down, and replies, “I thought you loved me too.”

Dean swallows and runs a hand, still shaking, over his face. Then he stands, slowly, needing to fight or flee or fuck, or do anything to get out of this situation.

Cas stands too, and studies Dean, looking smaller and more afraid than Dean has ever seen him, this man who has accomplished so much with so little, who knows everything about Dean, and seems far too good for this world.

Which means he’s certainly too good for Dean.

With one last look at Cas, Dean turns and opens the door of the Impala, slides in the front seat, starts the ignition, and drives away.

He glances in his rearview mirror. Cas is staring after him, shoulders slumped, getting smaller and smaller as Dean guns it down the road, away from his past, away from his heart, away from Castiel Novak.


	8. The Reward

That night, Dean doesn’t sleep. He stares at the ceiling, because whenever he closes his eyes, he sees Cas’s face the moment he said, _“I thought you loved me too.”_

Those words resonate in his brain, plaguing him, keeping him from thinking about anything else.

The next day, Dean calls into the shop and tells his employees that he’s sick.

Cas texts him early that afternoon.

_C: I’m sorry. I hope you’re ok._

Dean deletes Cas’s number from his phone and turns it off.

He manages to fall asleep shortly after, until he’s woken up by someone ringing his doorbell.

It’s dark outside when he’s startled awake, and he checks the clock on his bedside table. It’s nine PM, and his doorbell rings again. He rolls out of bed and throws on a pair of pajama pants before stumbling into the hallway without turning on any lights.

He opens the door, and, predictably, it’s Cas, looking as small and sad as he did when Dean left him in the parking lot of the bar less than twenty-four hours ago. “Hello, Dean.”

“What do you want, Cas?” Dean grumbles, running a hand through his hair.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I stopped by the shop when your phone went immediately to voicemail this afternoon, but you weren’t there. May I come in?”

Dean stares at him a moment, leaning on the door, tired and groggy and not wanting to have this conversation right now, or probably ever. He wants Cas and his kinky sex and his unwelcome love out of his goddamn life. “No.”

Cas swallows visibly and looks down. “All right.” He nods, takes a deep breath, and shifts his gaze back up to Dean, clenching his jaw. “May I at least have a few words before you slam the door in my face?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Oh, _now_ you want to talk. You couldn’t have talked to me _before_ you fucked me? You couldn’t have talked to me before you made me start questioning _my entire fucking identity?”_

Cas glares at him. “Dean, I will never apologize for loving you, just as I will never apologize for preferring men. It’s something innate in me. I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you our freshman year of high school–”

“You _what?”_ Dean asks, shocked.

“Yes, Dean, despite your incessant machismo and bullying, I was able to see underneath your poorly-constructed facade to the loving, kind, intelligent, loyal person you are today.”

Dean gapes at him.

“My point is, I won’t apologize for loving you, but I will apologize for using… alternate and, in retrospect, harmful ways of communicating that to you. I was just…” Cas trails off.

“You were what,” Dean deadpans.

Cas pauses for a moment, searching Dean’s face, and continues, “I was afraid that if I didn’t bundle everything up in sex, you wouldn’t want me.” He looks away and adds, “I’m not afraid of that anymore, because you’ve confirmed it. So all I can do is apologize, and let you know that I understand if you don’t want to speak to me anymore.”

Dean stares at him, mind completely blank, and starts pushing the door closed.

Cas lifts his hand and stops the door. “I need you to know, Dean, that I did what I did because I was afraid of losing you. Please, if there’s anything I can do to rectify this situation, tell me. Even if you still never want to speak to me again, I will do whatever it takes to fix this. It was not my intention to hurt you.”

Dean huffs a laugh again and shakes his head. “Whatever, Cas. Goodnight.” He closes the door the rest of the way, locks the deadbolt, and stumbles back to bed.

***

The next day, Dean is in the middle of a _Star Wars_ marathon when he gets a text.

He immediately regrets turning his phone back on, but, sighing, he smashes his hand on the coffee table, knocking over empty beer cans and crushing crumpled up paper towels covered in pizza grease, finally landing on his phone and picking it up.

It’s from Sam.

_S: What the fuck is going on between you and Cas?_

Dean rolls his eyes.

_D: Nothing_

He thinks for a moment, and sends another text.

_D: Why?_

_S: Because Bobby told me you haven’t been to work in two days and Cas texted me letting me know he’s quitting the trivia team. I may have dropped out of law school, but my deductive reasoning skills tell me something is going on between you two._

_D: Not everything is a damn soap opera Samantha_

_S: Says the dude who’s seen every episode of Dr. Sexy 50 times._

_D: That show is WAY more than a soap opera and you know it_

_S: Whatever. So what happened between you and Cas?_

The only person more stubborn than their father is Sam, so Dean relents before Sam comes knocking on his goddamn door and insisting that they talk about their fucking feelings or whatever chick flick shit Sam thinks Dean needs in order to “process his emotions.”

_D: We’re not talking to each other anymore_

_S: Why?_

_D: Because some shit went down and he seems to think I’m someone I’m not_

_S: Gay?_

Dean, mouth agape, has never hated his brother and his creepy powers of perception more than at this very moment.

_D: What the fuck Sam_

_S: Look. Cas didn’t tell me a damn thing about what’s been going on, but I’d be willing to put money on it that he declared his love for you and you freaked the fuck out._

Dean doesn’t reply. Instead, he purses his lips together and stares at his phone, brow furrowed, waiting for the verbose douchebag to finish his pathetic text lecture.

_S: You’re not gay, Dean._

_D: Thank you captain obvious_

_S: I mean, you can be if you want, but you don’t have to be if you don’t want._

_D: That doesn’t make any goddamn sense_

_S: Yes it does. Listen to me. Your preferences are no one’s business but your own. So what if you like Cas? Why do you have to put a label and a billion pounds of social stigma on yourself for that? You don’t have to be anything if you don’t want. You obviously have feelings for him. In not following through with that, you’re only making yourself miserable. I bet you’re already on A New Hope by now._

Dean pauses the movie at _“…you’re our only hope…”_ and throws the remote across the room.

Sam is right. Sam is always fucking right. About the movie, about Cas, about everything.

_D: Pull your head out of your ass. You don’t know the situation_

_S: Come on, Dean. The only one who needs to pull anything out of his ass is you and the rod you shoved up there circa 1952 when you adopted your perspective of sexuality. No one’s gonna give a shit who or what you fuck, and moreover, no one in their right mind would mess with Cas. No one knows what that dude is capable of._

Dean rubs his neck and knows full well what that dude is, in fact, capable of.

_D: I hate you_

_S: You only say that when I win._

_D: stfu_

_S: You only say that when I really win._

Dean throws his phone where he threw his remote and crosses his arms over his chest.

He chews on the inside of his cheek and stares at the ceiling, replaying his last conversation with Cas over and over in his head. Then he rolls over, grabs his laptop from under the coffee table, sets it on his stomach, and opens it, searching the term _sexual orientation._

He skims an article and finds himself directed to something called a Kinsey Scale Test. He takes it, getting immediately frustrated at having to choose between true and false when the truth is somewhere in the middle. _I am sexually submissive._ He doesn’t really know the answer to that anymore, but he’s pretty sure he’s not exclusively submissive, no. _I find the idea of having sex with another man repulsive._ Obviously not, because he did and it was fucking amazing.

_I can be sexually attracted to anyone in the right circumstance…_

This is the question that really gets to Dean. He finds himself saying aloud, “Isn’t everyone like that?”

He clicks the button to submit the test and gets the result, _3: Equally heterosexual and homosexual._

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mumbles to himself.

He takes a moment to rethink his entire life, and realizes with horror that he based his definition of “straight” on himself because he just always assumed he was straight. It should have been the other way around, though, he thinks. He should have found a definition that suited him instead of suiting himself to a definition.

He rolls Sam’s words around in his mind. _You don’t have to be anything if you don’t want._

Other than Sammy, he’s never felt as close to anyone as he feels to Cas. Not only can he tell Cas anything and know that it will always be accepted and understood, sometimes he doesn’t have to say anything at all and Cas still understands.

Cas is the one who texts him every day and asks him how he’s doing. Cas is the one who keeps Dean’s favorite beer stocked up in his fridge even though he hates it. Cas is the one who brings Dean medicine and forces disgusting herbal tea down his throat when he’s sick. Cas is Dean’s emergency contact, for godsakes, because who the hell knows where Sam’s going to be next month or next year or, hell, even next week. Cas is always here, though, a rock in Dean’s life that anchors him and connects him to reality, making sure he doesn’t delve too far into his escapist pursuits, making sure he gets out of his house and does the things that really make him happy.

And Cas _loves_ Dean. He loves Dean so much that he wasn’t willing to take it back, to say, “No homo, just bros,” when shit hit the fan, because that’s how much he meant it. It’s such an undeniable truth to him that he would rather not have Dean in his life at all than pretend anymore.

Because it hurt Cas that much to pretend. This whole time.

Dean had his head shoved too far up his own ass along with the rod from 1952 to see any of it.

He checks his calendar. It’s Thursday. Cas is grading reading prompts.

Before Dean loses his resolve, he shoves his laptop off his stomach, retrieves his phone from across the room, throws on his shoes, and leaves the apartment.

***

Dean gulps, staring at Cas’s front door, willing it to open by itself because Dean currently lacks the balls to knock on it.

There is a brief moment when Dean thinks he might be telekinetic, because the door flies open and Cas nearly runs into him before stopping and staring at Dean, wide-eyed and surprised. He’s holding his keys in one hand, his jacket slung over his arm. “Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, smiling wanly, and holds out a six pack of beer.

Cas tosses his jacket and keys onto the couch next to the front door and takes the beer, inspecting it. “This is seasonal. It’s not supposed to be out until next week.”

“I know. I called in a favor at the liquor store. The guy who owns it, Rufus, had some hefty engine work done on his F-150 a month back and I only charged him for parts.”

Cas looks up at him, face a mask of stone, and says, “Thank you, Dean. That’s very… considerate of you.”

“And I got you these too.” He pulls out a dozen red roses from behind his back and holds them out to Cas. “I’m sorry, Cas. For everything.”

Cas takes the flowers and smells them, a corner of his mouth twitching up slightly.

Dean continues, “I mean, if you’re busy right now, I can come back another time. If you want me to, that is. It’s okay if you don’t. I’ll understand.”

When Cas only stares at him in response, expression unreadable, Dean turns away to leave, and concludes, “If you want to hang out sometime, you know, you can text–”

Cas swallows visibly, and whispers, “Dean…” while setting the beer and roses down on top of his keys and jacket. Then he grabs Dean by the shoulder and spins him around so that their faces are inches apart.

Dean stares into those beautiful blue eyes that are at this moment filled with fear and apprehension and a cloud of other emotions Dean can’t place.

Searching his face, Cas tells him, “Dean, I can’t do what we’ve been doing anymore. I can’t play the role of gay best friend. I won’t spend my life in unrequited love with you, watching you seduce women and waste away in front of televisions and engines. No amount of me convincing myself you’re straight is going to make me fall out of love with you. I’m sorry, Dean, I just can’t–”

“I love you too, Cas,” Dean interrupts, voice barely above a whisper. His throat constricts as he stares at Cas, whose eyes are blown wide, the air thick and electric between them. Dean trembles, mind grinding to a complete halt as he waits with bated breath for Cas’s reaction.

“You do?” Cas asks, voice small, eyebrows knit as he looks at Dean in disbelief.

In response, Dean cups his face in his hands and pulls him in, pressing their mouths together and parting his lips, kissing Cas slow and deep and needy.

Cas puts his hands on Dean’s hips and pulls him in closer, spinning them around and into the apartment, then kicking the door shut behind them.

Dean presses Cas against the door and enjoys the thrill of exploring his body with his hands, exploring Cas's mouth with his own instead of being the one explored for once. Cas is giving him the reins for the first time, and it feels fucking amazing.

He breaks away and trails kisses down Cas's jaw and neck.

Cas pants and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, grabbing and pulling, and Dean huffs a laugh into his neck, smiling against the warm skin, because nothing can ever be gentle with Cas, and Dean loves that about him.

“Tell me what you want, Dean,” Cas commands as Dean sucks a mark onto his collarbone.

“You,” Dean rumbles against Cas’s skin. “I want you. I want to be able to touch you, Cas. No games, no toys…” Sucking Cas’s earlobe between his teeth, making Cas groan, Dean whispers, “Just you, and me, and a flat surface, so I can fuck you into it until you can’t see straight.”

“Oh god, _Dean…”_ Cas whimpers as Dean unbuttons Cas’s shirt. “Bedroom, _now._ ”

Dean kisses him once more, smiling against his lips, and asks, coy, “What’s the magic word?” while pressing Cas harder against the door, rutting his hard cock on Cas’s hip.

Cas growls and pulls at Dean’s lower lip, biting and sucking it between his teeth. He’s far enough away that Dean can see the fury in his eyes, and it gives him a chill up his spine, knowing that he does this to Cas, pushes his buttons, winds him up tight. Letting go of his lip, he says, “The magic word is _get the fuck in my bedroom right now, you dirty slut, or we’ll see who’s going to be fucking who.”_

Dean pulls away from the kiss, and places another one on Cas’s lips, quick and chaste. He stares into Cas’s eyes, smirking, and replies, “I think the word you’re looking for is _whom_ , Mr. Novak.”

Cas’s eyes darken as he takes Dean by the front of his shirt and drags him down the hallway and into the bedroom, tossing him on the bed and straddling his waist, pressing him against the mattress and kissing him with a new level of fervor, no holds barred, no tip-toeing around his true affections.

Dean is so painfully hard in his jeans, he thinks he might come before they even get started.

Cas is making unabashed, broken noises above him as he unbuckles his belt with one hand and slides it off of his hips with a snap, throwing it on the floor.

Dean dives in with his hands and unbuttons Cas’s pants, pushing them down and off while Cas unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way and tears it off of his broad, muscled shoulders. It all falls in a pile at the foot of the bed, Cas finally, blissfully naked on top of him, and Dean isn’t tied up or denying himself a single second of this. He’s greedy with lust for Cas, and wraps his hands around his waist to sit up, dragging him down and flipping their positions in one smooth motion so that Dean is on top and between Cas's legs. He leans down to press urgent kisses onto Cas’s tattoo, trailing it with licks and bites, sucking the inked feathers into his mouth and moaning around it, delighting in the work of art that is his Cas.

There’s so much to explore, and they have all the time in the world, so Dean slows down, lifts his head and takes Cas in with his gaze. Cas’s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s holding Dean’s wrists, guiding them over his body. Dean passes his nipples and flicks them with his thumbs, making Cas hiss and arch off the bed. He licks a stripe up the tattooed side of his hipbone, watching his dick jump at the closeness of Dean’s lips to his cock. He stares at it, a bead of cum pearling at the top.

Dean sits up and pulls his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside, then unbuttons and snakes out of his jeans. He runs his hands up and down Cas’s thighs, looking down at him, writhing and panting and staring at Dean, eyes dark and blown wide with lust. The tops of his cheeks are flushed and his lips are puffy and swollen and perfect.

Leaning down, Dean kisses Cas again, slow, languid, feeling the press of urgency in Cas’s ragged breathing, wanting to push this faster and harder and rougher, but Dean won’t let him. Breaking the kiss and trailing his hand down the side of Cas’s body, Dean whispers, voice low and quiet, nuzzling Cas’s neck, “I’m gonna make this so good for you, baby. You’re gonna love the way I fuck you.”

Cas heaves a breathy sigh and reaches into the drawer of his bedside table, feeling around in it and locating a bottle of lube and a condom, then tosses them at Dean.

Dean chuckles against Cas’s throat and takes the bottle, opening it and coating a generous dose of it onto his fingers.

Cas lifts his knees and Dean settles between them, placing kisses down the center of his chest as he grazes Cas’s opening with his finger. He teases it, massaging in circles, slow and light until Cas is gasping, hand gripping Dean’s other arm so tight that it leaves marks in the wake of his fingers.

Dean finally presses into him, just to the first knuckle of his index finger, and Cas growls out between clenched teeth, “Come on, Dean, I’m not your fucking prom date.”

Dean smiles and says, “But I bet you wanted to be.”

Cas lifts his head and glares at him.

Dean kisses the inside of Cas’s thigh, making his way down until he finds an adequate spot to bite down, hard. When Cas cries out and his hips jump up, Dean slides his finger the rest of the way in, earning him a guttural groan from the back of Cas’s throat.

Holding Cas’s hips down onto the bed, Dean presses the flat of his tongue onto Cas’s cock, slowly licking his way up to the tip, swollen and purple and wet, then sucking it into his mouth and swirling around the head of it.

Cas strains against the arm over his hips, but Dean holds him down firm, taking him the rest of the way in his mouth and wondering how the hell he ever thought he was straight, because this is the best thing life could ever afford him: Castiel Novak, brilliant, beautiful madman, coming apart underneath his hands, dropping his stoicism and replacing it with wanton abandon, face red and contorted in pleasure and torture as Dean pushes him out of his box, out of his usual power games, right into Dean’s steady and unyielding hands.

Dean hollows his cheeks around Cas’s dick and slides in a second finger, feeling Cas’s hole tighten against his knuckles and gradually loosen up as he pushes further in, slow, long strokes of his mouth and hand.

Cas is beyond words, beyond sounds. His eyes are squeezed shut and his hands are pulling Dean’s hair, twirling and tugging it between his fingers.

Dean finally adds a third finger, sliding his mouth off of Cas’s dick with a pop, and, when he’s all the way in, he lets go of Cas’s hips and crooks his fingers up, grazing his prostate so that Cas jumps and shouts, back arching off the bed for an entire second while his hands grip the pillow behind his head.

With a few more slow thrusts of his fingers, Cas keens, “Dean, fuck me. God, please fuck me. I’m ready. I just need you inside me, oh _god_ , Dean…”

Dean slides up Cas’s body, smiling, and leans in to kiss him.

Cas is so out of it he can barely kiss back. He only shudders his hips, fucking into air, so turned on that he’s leaking all over his stomach, legs parted as wide as they’ll go.

Dean rips open the wrapper and rolls the condom over himself. On his knees, he takes Cas’s legs and puts them over his shoulders, leaning back down so that Cas is bent in half underneath him. Dean lines up his dick to Cas’s hole and presses in. He waits for Cas to loosen around him, and he presses in more, stuttering his hips slowly until he bottoms out all the way, and stays there, still, heaving for breath as he wills himself not to come.

Cas stares at Dean, eyes wild, and Dean searches his face, kissing his bottom lip gently.

“Dean,” Cas pants, darting his eyes from one of Dean’s to the other, “I love you.”

Dean involuntarily thrusts into Cas and almost comes, Cas’s tight heat wrapped around him and those three words ringing in his ears. _“Fuck,_ Cas…”

He rolls his hips into Cas again, grinding into his ass, pressing up against his prostate over and over again, Cas’s ragged breathing against his neck.

Dean slides Cas’s legs around his waist and wraps his arm underneath his back to press their chests together, shoving into Cas slow and long and steady, letting his orgasm build up gradually, Cas’s dick trapped between their stomachs, slick with cum and saliva and sweat, sliding between them.

Cas forces himself deeper onto Dean’s dick as he groans out, “Faster, _harder…”_

Dean shakes his head in the crook of Cas’s neck. “No, baby, gonna take this one…” Cas clenches around Dean’s dick on an inward thrust, and Dean hisses before sliding out and slamming back into Cas, _“…slow,”_ then resumes his pace. “Gonna take you apart, gonna see what you look like when I’m the one who makes you come.” He kisses Cas’s lips, light and sweet, “So beautiful, Cas.”

Cas looks into Dean’s eyes as he pumps into him steadily, hands on either side of Dean’s face, hovering inches above his own. “Do you love me, Dean?”

Dean nods, and slows down even more, savoring the feel being inside Cas, balanced on the edge of euphoria, a few seconds of nirvana that create an infinity around them. “Of course I love you, Cas,” Dean whispers, pressing another kiss to Cas’s lips before rolling his hips and grazing Cas’s sweet spot again.

Cas gasps and pulls Dean in for a deeper kiss, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders. They’re as close as two people can ever be in every way, and Dean knows he loves Cas more than anything he’s ever loved, and he’s going to love Cas more than anything else for the rest of his life.

He feels a familiar tightness in his abdomen as he stutters his hips into Cas, shoving into him faster and harder, gritting his teeth.

Cas tightens his arms around Dean and holds on, muscles tensed.

Their mouths are hovering over one another, not kissing, just breathing and gasping and keening, bodies strung tight, vibrating in anticipation together.

Dean stares into Cas’s eyes, those deep blue oceans that he loves to drown in, loves to let consume him, and when Cas gasps out, “Dean…” with that voice which has destroyed his body and mind and soul in every wonderful way, it pushes Dean over the edge, and he comes with a shout, thrusting into Cas again and again.

Cas follows with a loud cry, warm wetness coating their stomachs, then drags Dean in for another fervent kiss while they slow down, panting and catching their breaths, riding out the waves of their orgasms.

Dean slips out of Cas gently, and rolls over onto his back with a huff, his head on Cas’s shoulder.

Cas leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Dean’s head, and they lie silent and still for several minutes.

Right as Dean is about to doze off while thinking that they should probably get cleaned up, Cas asks, “So… can we try that beer now?”


End file.
